Apocalyptic Blood
by Michelle Knight 1188
Summary: As the fate of the world hangs by a thread, Sam confronts Lilith and finally discovers the shocking truth of his existence: he is the Antichrist. Can Sam control his powers and defy his destiny...or will he bring about the end?
1. The Choice

**This story is my own rendition of how Supernatural could end. The idea popped into my head and I decided to let it loose. It's set in Season 4 after CAIAD, and I'll try to post a chapter at least once a week. Enjoy!**

**The Choice**

Sam knew what was going to happen.

He knew what he was going to say. He knew how he was going to say it. He even had a pretty good idea of how badly Dean was going to react.

He was _prepared_.

It still wasn't any easier for him to walk into their hotel room.

Sam opened the door slowly, his face set in determination. Dean was lounging on his bed—the bed closest to the door—watching one of the few television stations available. He looked up as Sam entered. "Hey." He said simply, and directed his attention to the screen once more.

Typical. Less than a year ago he would have been able to tell that Sam was almost sick with fear and anticipation, but now…

Sam closed the door quietly, taking longer than usual to complete the mundane task. He didn't want to rush what he was about to say, he wanted to cling to his brother's presence for as long as possible.

He turned away from the closed door and focused his gaze on Dean's disinterested form. Dean didn't even spare him another glance. "You just going to stand there?" Dean asked. "Take a seat. There's some kind of football game on…neither team can play, but I guess it's better than watching Home and Garden or the Disney Channel…apparently those are our only other options. There's beer on the table."

Sam swallowed hard at Dean's nonchalance and forced himself not to back down. He had to follow through with this, and if he allowed himself to sit on the bed and watch a pointless game of football with his brother…he didn't know if he could. "Dean…" he said instead, "We need to talk."

Dean tensed instantly. Sam was ready for the reaction, but he flinched nonetheless.

"Sam…" Dean muttered, "Do we really—"

"It's important." Sam interrupted, forcing the words out of his throat. "And it can't wait."

Dean sighed heavily, still tense, and reached for the remote. He pressed the power button, silencing the normal sounds of the cheering fans and the booming announcer's voice.

Sam's thoughts seemed unnaturally loud as he went over what he was about to say. This was it—Dean was never going to forgive him. Things were never going to be the same, and the gulf between them was going to widen astronomically. He clenched his teeth together and forced himself not to back down.

Dean turned to face him, and his face was rigid in the uncomfortable silence. "What is it?"

Sam forced himself to breathe. "Dean…I've made a choice." He said levelly.

Dean's face darkened further. "What do you mean?"

_You know what I mean. _"I…I'm done sneaking around behind your back. You deserve more than that." He said slowly, "But I've made up my mind, and I need to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

Sam hesitated for a moment, savoring the feeling of his brother's open gaze before the dam burst completely. "I'm going to use my powers again. I need to develop them so that I can kill Lilith and end this whole ordeal."

There. He had said it.

Dean's expression instantly morphed into something beyond words. "_No_." he hissed, "No _way_."

"You can't change my mind." Sam said, aware that every word he uttered would only succeed in driving him further away from Dean. "I've already decided."

Dean leapt to his feet, a snarl of rage etched into his face. "What the hell do you mean _you've already decided?!_" he shrieked angrily, "We never talked about this! When did you get such a damn stupid idea?"

"An hour ago." Sam answered simply, "While I was out."

Dean glared at him, studying his expression. "Ruby was there, wasn't she? On your _walk_." He spat the last word as though it were poisonous.

"Yes." Sam said, frowning at the implication, "She was."

Dean closed the distance between them in less than a second, hands balled into shaking fists at his side. He laughed, but the sound was bitter, like a slap in the face. "You've pulled a lot of crap these past few months, Sam—but this just takes the damn cake. You _promised _you wouldn't use your powers again. What happened to that, huh? What happened to not going around behind my back with that bitch?!"

Sam forced himself to remain calm. "I haven't." he said simply.

Dean's fist came out of nowhere, slamming into the side of his face with raw force.

Sam's head snapped back from the blow, but he didn't flinch away. "I _haven't._" he said again, more forcefully, meeting Dean's gaze, "I haven't done anything behind your back that you don't already know about."

"Oh really? That's not saying much, _Sammy_—"

"Stop it." Sam shot back heatedly, "Stop assuming the worst. Sure, Dean, Ruby stops in occasionally to talk, and she does it while you aren't around because you would rather shoot her than look at her. She comes to tell me how horrifically the angels are losing, to explain how the seals are being broken far too quickly. But I've _ignored_ her. I've stood my ground and refused to act, because I didn't want to get dragged back into _that _again."

"Then what the _hell _are you doing, Sam?" Dean demanded. "You _promised _that you wouldn't use your powers again!"

Sam gritted his teeth. "I never promised _you_ that, Dean." He said quietly. "I promised myself. And I should have known better…I can' t hide from this."

Dean's lips curled back in fury. "Sam." He hissed, "You know damn well what the _angels _said about your abilities. They'll _kill_ you—"

"They haven't killed me yet." Sam said bitterly. "Dean—I need to do this. I have to stop Lilith before she breaks all the seals."

"No. You. Don't!" Dean shouted, grabbing onto Sam's arm so hard that it was painful, "_You _don't have to do anything. _You _aren't a part of this! The angels have it under control—they'll stop Lilith, _not_ you!"

Sam stared at him. "You don't believe that. How the _hell _can you still believe I have nothing to do with this? I've _always_ had something to do with this—it's who I am! And the angels are _losing_, Dean."

"No! Angels _don't_ lose, Sam!" he spat back. "And yes, I'm perfectly aware that you have something to do with this—_mess—_that's targeted us our entire lives." He continued bitterly, "But it's not a _good _something. Your abilities—your _powers_—they're evil. They're _demonic_. Nothing good can come of using them—and you're blind to that!"

Sam clenched his teeth together. "I'm the only one that can stop her, Dean."

Dean released Sam's arm and roughly slammed him back against the wooden door. "No!" he bellowed dangerously, "You're _NOT_. You honestly think that you're _so_ _important _that the world will just end if you don't step in and save the day?" he laughed harshly, "You don't _matter_! You're just as insignificant as everybody else!"

Sam let out his breath in a hiss. "Everyone around me has been dying since I was born, Dean. _Everyone_ wants me dead—angels and demons alike."

"Is that what you want—to be _dead_?" Dean shouted back sardonically, "Because—oh, if I'd have known _that_, I could have saved myself the trouble and _not _suffered in Hell to save your ungrateful ass!"

Sam flinched at the harsh words. "I never asked you to sell your soul for me, Dean." He whispered painfully, "I _hate_ that you did that—it haunts me every damn day!"

"Oh really?" Dean spat, "Because if it _really _upset you that much, what the hell are you doing running off with that demon to practice your _hell-_spawned powers?!"

"I…I don't _want_ to run off, Dean." Sam said pleadingly, "I want you to come—I want your support. We—"

"No." Dean interrupted harshly. "_We_ nothing. I _won't_. I won't stand by you while you go against everything we ever stood for."

"I'm saving people, Dean." Sam protested.

"For _now_." Dean shot back. "But what about a few months from now, huh? What about when you get so twisted up in this demonic shit that you can't even tell which way's up?"

"So what are you saying?" Sam demanded, "That I'm doomed to become a monster? That I'm just days away from snapping and killing thousands of innocent people? Is that what you're saying?"

"_No_, Sam, because you _already are_—" he stopped. The words hung in the air, too late to take back.

Silence.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "I already am a monster." He finished softly. Dean's words sank into his soul, and nestled deep inside with other words that were just as piercing. _If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you. _

Dean's mouth opened and shut again helplessly. "You…"

"No. It's okay. I'm glad you said it." Sam said bitterly. "And that you _meant_ it. It's what I needed to hear."

"Sam…" Dean released Sam from the death grip he had on him and stepped back. "I can't support you if you use your powers now. I _can't_."

"I know that." Sam replied. "But the angels are losing. I won't let Lilith win."

"Castiel—"

"Castiel can't stop her." Sam interrupted, "If he could, she would have been dead by now. I have to do it."

"You're leaving." Dean said flatly.

His words cut through Sam like a knife. "Yes."

Dean laughed mirthlessly, "Of course you are. That's what you do—you _leave_."

Sam flinched. "I don't want to." He said softly. "You have to believe me…I had hoped that you would come with me. That you would understand."

Dean threw his arms up. "How can I understand, Sam? Your powers are _demonic_. If you asked me for _anything_ else I would have gladly given it to you, but _not this_. I just spent forty years in Hell. In _Hell_, Sam_._ I know what this power can do, I know that it won't accomplish anything but evil, and you…" he trailed off, and when he spoke again his voice was firm. "If you go…I won't follow you."

Sam nodded, pushing down the bile that had risen up in his throat. "I know." He said finally, "But I still have to go."

Dean stared at him. "Don't do this." He pleaded quietly, one last attempt to mend the rift. "You can't just…_leave_. We'll figure out some other way to stop Lilith." He paused, "_Please_, Sammy."

Sam winced at the raw pain in his brother's voice. He expelled all the air out of his lungs, slowly. _This is it…there's no turning back._ "I'm sorry Dean." He said after a long pause, "No."

Dean's breath hitched in disbelief. "_No_?" He echoed, astonished. His thoughts sped up, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when his relationship with his brother had become so irreparably shattered. He realized with a jolt that he had been ignoring the blatant warning signs for the past few months. _I should have seen this coming. I should have…_

Sam shook his head miserably. He reached behind his back for the doorknob and pulled the door open a few inches. "I'll go now." He said simply, trying to ignore the agony that walking away was causing him.

Dean was at a loss for words, shock clearly etched onto his face.

Sam looked away, knowing that Dean's expression alone might cause him to apologize and stay behind. "Goodbye, Dean." He whispered softly.

He pulled the door open a few feet and slipped through into the darkness, pulling it shut behind him with a click.

Sam's heart pounded wildly. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, half wishing that Dean would come running out and yell, plead, or throw punches. _Anything_.

The door remained firmly shut, a symbol of the chasm that had widened between them.

Sam turned and walked away.

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	2. Swirled Black

**Thanks so much for all the reviews I got for the first chapter! Your response was very encouraging. I only hope this chapter meets your expectations. Enjoy!**

**Swirled Black**

Castiel appeared. He materialized in the hotel room without so much as a telling creak or gust of wind. Dean didn't hear him enter—he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to care—but then again, Castiel had a knack for discreet exits and entrances.

Dean was sitting on his bed—he had been sitting there since Sam left, daring to hope that it had all been a mistake. That Sam was going to walk back through the door and take everything back.

It had been five hours.

Castiel's face was guardedly composed. "Where's Sam?" he demanded.

Dean's head jerked up at the voice, and his tired eyes settled on the angel. He couldn't even muster up the energy to be surprised. "Not here." He said dully. He raised his beer bottle to his lips and allowed more of the lukewarm liquid to pour down his throat.

"I know _that_." Castiel shot back harshly. "I'm asking you _where_ he is."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. He left." He peered up at Castiel, suddenly confused by his frustration. "Why are you asking me, anyway? You're an _angel_…you can find anyone if you want to."

Castiel's face hardened. "I _always _monitor Sam, Dean—just in case." He said darkly.

Dean gritted his teeth as the underlying meaning filtered through his brain. "What are you going to do?" he grunted, panic rising up in his chest.

"You know what I _need_ to do, Dean." Castiel said levelly, "But right now it's not a matter of what I want." He paused. "I lost him."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I don't know where he is. One moment he was there, and the next…he wasn't. It's as though he doesn't exist anymore."

The beer bottle slipped through Dean's fingers, spilling amber liquid all over the carpet. _Oh God… _"Is…is he…"

"No, no." Castiel muttered impatiently. "He's not _dead_—I wish he was. I would have felt it if he had died. He's just…_gone_." He paused, studying Dean's face with disgust. "And you're _happy _about it."

Dean's eyes widened incredulously. "What? I'm not allowed to be relieved that you're not going to kill my brother?"

Castiel's expression darkened. "If you only knew…what I know…what Sam _is_…you wouldn't want him alive either. You have _no idea _what he's capable of."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Castiel shook his head, ignoring the question. "Whose side are you on, Dean?"

Dean bit his lip, suddenly angry. "God's." he spat, "What other side is there?"

"Good." Castiel said. "Let's keep it that way."

He disappeared.

**SNSNSN**

**Three Months Later…**

Sam strode forward silently through the abandoned warehouse. His eyes darted cautiously in every direction, and he listened intently for any revealing footsteps or creaks that might divulge where _they _were hiding.

He smiled softly as he rounded the final bend in the darkness. "There you are." He murmured, amused. "I see you."

He couldn't, really. Not through the blackness inside the warehouse. But he could _sense them_, and at the moment their mounting terror was only making their position increasingly obvious. It was as though they had a beacon of light shining on them.

Five demons. No backup.

Could this _get _any easier?

The first demon leapt—it didn't even make it two feet before Sam slammed it backwards with a wave of power. He could hear it gurgling—choking—as he sucked the life out of it. It took him less than five seconds to finish, and then he allowed the body to slide gently down the wall onto the dirty wooden floor.

The other four demons paused.

"Anyone else?" Sam taunted.

They all leapt at once—

The power flowing through his veins exploded outward through his hands in an invisible wave of fury. The demons were thrown like ragdolls to the ground, and they writhed and gasped for breath as he ripped them from the innocent bodies they had violated.

It was over in less than twenty seconds. Breathing steadily, Sam allowed his hands to drop down to his sides with a frown. _It was faster last time…_

One of the five victims groaned wearily, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Hello? Yes, I have an emergency and need an ambulance. Five people have been hurt…Yes, that's right." He gave the woman the address to the warehouse when she asked and then hung up before she could ask any questions that he couldn't answer.

He turned and walked away, confident that the medical personnel would be able to give effective care and explanations to the people he had just rescued. As he stepped out of the building he took a moment to breathe in the fresh night air before walking over to a car parked near the road.

He opened the passenger door and slid inside.

"Well?" Ruby asked impatiently.

"No problems." Sam replied, leaning back in his seat. "As usual."

"Good." She said, turning the key in the ignition. "And the people?"

"All five survived. They were lucky."

Ruby scoffed. "Yeah…lucky _you _came around."

"Lucky I'm always practicing." Sam countered bitterly.

"Same thing." She said, moving the car out of park and stepping on the gas.

Sam shook his head, still angry with himself. "I was faster last time." He muttered.

Ruby grinned smugly and rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ you were, Sam. Last time there were only four demons…there were five tonight."

"That doesn't make any difference."

"What miserable failure taught you how to count?" she shot back, amused.

Sam tensed. "I taught myself."

"That explains a lot." She muttered, avoiding what wasn't being said. Of course _Dean _had taught Sam everything—including something as simple as learning how to count—but she knew better than to point that out. Sam tried not to think about Dean now…_tried _being the key word, because she was aware that he was failing miserably at it. Especially now…

There was silence for a few moments as Sam watched the scenery fly by outside his window.

Ruby sighed finally. "Sam…" she said, "Dean's going to figure out that we're following him."

Sam glanced at her. "I don't think so." He said simply, "I'm being careful. He doesn't know."

She sighed exasperatedly. "Oh—come on! I know that your brother is a bit dense at times, but don't you think that Dean's going to think it's _strange _that every time he comes up against powerful demons on a job they _disappear_?"

Sam winced. "Well, _yes_, but there could be other reasons for that."

"Like _what_?"

"Other hunters." Sam said, aware that he was just fishing for answers.

Ruby rolled her eyes and pressed down harder on the gas pedal. "You and I both know that hunters stay out of each other's way. They work _alone_."

"Okay, but—"

"Sam, we have been following Dean around for months."

"So what? He's reckless when he's alone, I just need to make sure he's alright."

"Of course he's alright! How could he not be, with you killing every demon that gets within a five mile radius of him?"

"He's working without any backup." Sam protested. "And I need to practice killing demons. Everyone wins."

"Yes. Everyone wins—until he figures it out."

Sam frowned. "Ruby…just…don't."

"It's dangerous to be around Dean, Sam, and you know it." Ruby said levelly, "The angels are constantly around him—and they want you dead. They can't find you now, but if they _see you _you're going to be dead without any questions asked."

Sam sighed. "I _know,_ but I can't just…leave him."

"_He_ thinks you already left." She pointed out. "He already feels abandoned, and your secret mission to protect him from everything isn't something he can appreciate because it's a _secret._ Besides, the angels can protect him."

Sam ground his teeth together angrily. "Why do you care _now_?" Sam demanded. "Why are you bringing this up _today_?"

Ruby was silent for a moment. She glanced over at him in the darkness. "Because I was finally able to locate Lilith…and I think you're ready to go after her."

Silence.

"You found Lilith?" Sam breathed.

"She's in Virginia…only a few states away. Fifty-nine seals have already been broken, Sam. You're powers have grown so much…I would have liked to wait until they were even more advanced, but if we wait any longer we might not be able to find her again until after it's too late. We need to act now."

Sam nodded slowly. "Yes." He said. "We have to…" he tensed and trailed off suddenly, and a sharp intake of breath passed through his lips.

"What?" Ruby demanded. "Sam, what is it?"

"There were _six._" Sam breathed, horror spreading across his face. "There were _six _demons, Ruby!"

Ruby slammed on the breaks, bringing the car to an abrupt stop. "_What?!"_ she yelled. "How the hell did you miss one?"

"No, this is different. Go back!" Sam demanded hastily. "Damn it Ruby, we have to go back _now_!"

**SNSNSN**

Dean stood beside the Impala outside his hotel room, a look of disgust plastered onto his face as he held his cell phone to his ear. "Yeah Bobby…it looks like I won't be needing any help after all. The demons are…gone."

"_Again?"_

"Yeah. _Again_." He growled, hating the accusation in Bobby's voice. "And no, I didn't lose them or get outsmarted by them—they're just gone. Poof. It's like…it's like someone else got them before I did."

"_That's impossible. Hunters work alone."_

"Yeah, well, apparently one of them doesn't because the demons are gone again and_ I_ sure as hell didn't waste them." He ranted heatedly.

"_This is…what? The eighth time this has happened to you in the past three months? You go after a demon and the demon just disappears?"_

"Yes." Dean admitted, angry that Bobby had been keeping track of his failures. "So what?"

"_So this seems like more than just a coincidence."_

"You think someone's _helping me_?" Dean demanded. "Who the hell would do that?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"No." Dean said, realizing what Bobby was going to say before he said it out loud. "No. Sam did _not_ do this. Sam's _gone_."

"_Who else would it be, Dean? It's got to be Sam." _

"Sam left! He's off…he's off…"

"_Destroying demons?"_

Dean winced at the implicative tone of Bobby's voice. "Sam isn't doing this."

"_Why not? Because he can't or because you don't want him to be helping you?" _

Dean kept silent for a moment, biting his lip to keep from yelling at his friend. "I have to go." He ground out quietly.

"_Oh, come on, Dean…you don't—"_

Dean shut the phone with a click and angrily ran a hand down his face, trying to calm himself down. _Breathe…_

After his heart had slowed down he turned and walked back to his hotel room, exhausted. The door opened smoothly and he flicked on the light switch next to the door.

"Hello." A voice said silkily, "I've been waiting for you."

Dean glanced up, instantly alert, just in time to see a young woman standing at the other side of the room. She flung her arm to the side and Dean was thrown away from the door and into a wall with horrific force. He ground his teeth together and hurriedly tried to sit up and reach for his gun, but before he could move his weapon flew out of reach and he was slammed backwards against the wall.

The woman smiled. Her eyes swirled black.

Dean breathed out, trying to think of a way to get out of this. His gun was too far away to reach, and he couldn't move.

"Hello, Dean Winchester." She murmured, sauntering over to where he was trapped.

Dean glared back at her, struggling. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.

"Everyone knows _your _name." she answered smoothly. She reached out a perfectly manicured hand and ran it softly over his face. "You're the human who talks to angels."

_And a lot of good that's done me…_ "Yeah, well, my angel friends will be back any second now, so you better run off in those high heels of yours before you get turned into a smoldering pile of ash."

She laughed, and her voice was almost musical. "They won't come." she continued, "The angels don't care about _you_."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Of course they do." He muttered, trying to get away from the icy touch of her skin. "Why do you think they brought me back from Hell?"

She laughed again. "Oh Dean…always so clueless." She paused, and then went on. "Lilith sent me here. To kill you."

"She still wants me dead, huh?" Dean choked out, trying to escape her invisible hold.

"Oh yes. Very much…just not for the reasons that you have in mind."

"Great." Dean said bitterly. "Well, if she wants me dead so badly why didn't she come do it herself?"

"She has…other more pressing concerns right now." She smiled, "Or should I say THE concern."

Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What…breaking the 66 Seals?"

"No." she answered with a laugh, "That's not it at all. That's just a necessary side note."

Dean stared at her, so intrigued by what she was saying that he had forgotten to keep struggling. "What are you talking about?"

She grinned. "Oh, come now. I can't go and give away _all _our secrets…" she trailed off and leaned in closer, pressing her hands flat against Dean's chest. "Time to die, pretty boy."

Dean tensed, waiting—

The door exploded inward with a thunderous slam and the girl was suddenly wrenched away from him faster than he could blink.

Dean's head shot up, and his gaze locked onto the choking and gasping demon in the center of the room. Black smoke poured out of her mouth, and then—after mere seconds had passed—it was over. She fell onto the carpet, the rise and fall of her chest the only telltale that she was still alive.

Dean felt the pressure holding him to the wall cease, and he steadied himself on the floor. He waited for a moment and then quietly turned to face the person that had rescued him.

Sam.

Sam stared back at him, his shoulders still tense from how close he had come to being too late. His eyes raked over Dean's body, making sure that his brother wasn't hurt.

Dean swallowed hard. "Sam." He choked. His brother's name was all he could manage to get out through all the thoughts that were blazing through his mind. He wasn't sure what else to say.

Sam's stance relaxed at the word, as though it had been all he needed to hear. A few more moments passed. "I have to go." He said, "Castiel will be here any moment." He turned to leave.

Dean watched him walk away, his mind racing. The girl groaned from where she was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Sam paused right before he passed through the door frame and half turned back, his face cast in shadow. "Dean…I know where Lilith is. I'm going after her."

Dean remained silent, but Sam stayed where he was, as though waiting for him to say something else. Dean swallowed hard. "Okay." He said quietly.

Sam nodded, and then walked out the door.

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	3. Time to Prepare

Sam hastened his pace as he hurried back to the car. His silent footsteps sounded unnaturally loud against the cracked pavement as thoughts swirled wildly in his head. _What the hell did I just do??_

He swore silently. By showing himself to Dean, he had revealed his position to everyone that had been looking for him—angels and demons alike. Of course, he had known the consequences before he stepped foot in the hotel room—Ruby had pleaded with him not to go—but in the end he knew that there hadn't ever been an option. He'd had to save his brother. Dean couldn't die—not again.

That would be unbearable.

So now, instead of Dean, _he _would die. As he hurried along the deserted alley he didn't bother to hope that he could outrun whatever was coming for him.

It was only a matter of who got to him first.

Sam rounded the final bend—and stopped dead in his tracks. "Castiel." He murmured with a heavy sigh. "I guess you're the lucky winner."

Castiel's brow furrowed, but he shook his head and ignored the comment. "Sam." He said coldly, "You have to stop this. Now."

Sam breathed out, confused. Where was the killing blow? He flashed the angel an empty smile, trying to cloak his initial uncertainty. "Right…I've heard that warning before. " He answered dryly, "And you know what? I'd love to stop. I've _tried _to stop—and I _can't_. So either kill me or get the hell out of my way, but I'm done talking to you."

Castiel stepped forward in front of him, deliberately blocking his path. "I know what you're planning to do, Sam." He said levelly, "You're making a mistake. Don't go after Lilith."

Sam's eyes narrowed at the unexpected order. "Why not?" he demanded.

Castiel hesitated for a moment. "I can't tell you. It's not time for you to know...but everything will be revealed to you soon, Sam—and when you finally see how everything fits together…" he trailed off. "You will wish that you had never learned the truth at all. Until that day comes…be glad that it isn't time yet."

"Be_…glad?!" _Sam sputtered, livid. Anger frothed up inside of him. "You know what?" he spat furiously. "_Fine. _Talk in riddles, keep me in the dark. I've been around you angels long enough to know better than to expect any straight answers from you. But fifty-nine seals have been broken, Castiel. Someone needs to do something, and _you _obviously can't stop her."

There was a long pause. "No." Castiel admitted finally. "I can't. There are too many possible seals. Even if we manage to stop some of them from being broken, she will still succeed in breaking enough to bring about the end."

Sam's mouth fell open. "W-what?" he gasped. "You—you _know_ that you can't stop her?"

"Yes." The angel said simply, watching Sam's reaction closely. "The world as you know it will end in less than three months."

Sam took a step back as bile rose up in his throat at the implications of Castiel's words. "You...you can't just give up!" he spat. "You're an _angel_!"

"Yes I am." Castiel said patiently. "And I'm not giving up—I'm following orders. It's too late to prevent anything…the time has come to prepare."

"Prepare for what?" Sam demanded angrily.

"The Apocalypse." Castiel said solemnly, "For the final battle against Lucifer."

"But it's not too late!" Sam yelled, "There's still time, the world doesn't have to end! If I kill Lilith now she won't be able to break any more seals."

"Don't go to Lilith, Sam." Castiel said firmly. "Others will merely take her place in breaking the seals, and you…" he trailed off, unwilling to say any more.

"I _what_?" Sam shouted, stepping forward until his face was inches from the angel's. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You don't want to know."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Yes I do." He hissed.

Castiel frowned. "As it is…you will find out soon enough. And then…"

Sam growled in frustration. "Then _what_?"

"Then it will happen."

There was a pause while Sam tried to control his rising anger, "Is it _possible_," he finally snapped, "For you to make any _semblance_ of sense?"

"I have to go now." Castiel said calmly.

Sam stared at him in disbelief. "You're not going to kill me?"

"I can't kill you, Sam." Castiel admitted quietly. "I never could."

He disappeared.

Sam stared blankly at the place the angel had been standing, overwhelmed by the faint glimpses of facts he had been shown and the hints of some horrific pit of knowledge that was just beyond his reach. He hesitated for a moment, unsure, and then his resolve deepened and he strode the remaining distance to the car.

Ruby stared with astonished eyes as he slid into his seat. "You…you're _alive_?" she murmured, her voice laced with disbelief. "But…Castiel…"

"He couldn't kill me." Sam said darkly. "Just drive."

Ruby's brow furrowed. "Sam—"

"_Drive_, Ruby." Sam spat fiercely. He settled back in his seat, glaring out the streaked windshield. "Take me to Lilith."

**SNSNSN**

**Twelve hours later…**

"Sam…when I told you that you were ready to go after Lilith, I didn't think that you would be damn stupid enough to think you could just blindly attack her. You're going to get yourself slaughtered."

"I'll be fine...Lilith is the one you should be worried about." Sam replied darkly, meeting her gaze for a moment before returning his attention to the perfect houses and colorful gardens outside his window.

"You _need_ a plan."

"No." Sam muttered dangerously, holding his hands out in front of him. "I don't need anything but these."

Ruby gritted her teeth and shifted in her seat. "You're an arrogant bastard, you know that? You're going to get yourself killed, and then what? What'll happen then?"

"Well, I'm assuming that the world will end and Lucifer will reign."

"And you're _okay_ with that?" She demanded incredulously.

"Well, Castiel seems to be fine with the idea, so who am I to judge?" he answered bitterly.

Ruby's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Never mind." Sam spat. "It doesn't matter. I'll win—and Lilith will go back where she belongs. Whatever happens after that isn't my responsibility."

Ruby was silent for a moment as she studied the man beside her. Sam was different. Something had changed inside of him, and the look in his eyes… "What do you want me to do?" she asked quietly.

"Stay in the car." Sam ordered. "I don't want your help." He opened the door quietly and stepped outside. He moved as if to slam it shut, but caught himself at the last moment and paused. The look on his face softened significantly and he bent down so that he could look back into the car. "Ruby…I…I just…"

Ruby smiled halfheartedly. "It's okay, Sam. You have to do this alone...you _need _this. I understand."

Sam sighed. "After what she did…to Dean…"

"I _know_." Ruby broke in. She waved her hand out in a dismissive motion. "Now stop wasting time…get out of here."

Sam nodded. He shut the door quietly and walked away, satisfied that each step brought him closer to the house where Lilith had staked her final claim.

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	4. Revelations

**Thanks so much for your interest in this story! The action picks up in this chapter, I promise. Enjoy! **

**Revelations**

The house was beautiful. White pavement led up to an elegant porch with white columns and flower pots hanging from every corner. A garden grew up from the other side, and scarlet roses blew in the light breeze as the morning sun beat down on the earth.

Sam Winchester boldly stepped up the paved driveway and climbed the wooden steps to the porch.

"Come on in, Sam…the door's open."

Sam exhaled slowly. His resolve deepened at the sound of _her _voice inside the house. He reached out and the door swung open under his touch. A teenage girl stood a few meters in front of him, her red hair set ablaze with the sunshine that was pouring in through elegant glass windows.

"I've been expecting you." Lilith said softly. Her eyes gleamed with uncontrolled excitement.

Sam stepped away from the closed door, using all his self control to stop himself from leaping across the remaining distance right then and ripping her apart. The sight of _her_, the sticky sound of her voice, was enough to make him insane. "Lilith." He spat.

Her smile widened. "I'm glad to see you looking well…how's Dean?"

Sam's hands clenched into fists so tightly that he felt his nails cutting into his palms.

Lilith's eyes glanced down at his hands, watching as trails of blood trickled down from the small slits he had unintentionally made in his own flesh. She inhaled appreciatively. "Mmm…I could just eat you up."

"You'd never get the chance." Sam murmured dangerously.

Lilith laughed softly. "No…I suppose I wouldn't." she tilted her head, studying Sam's expression for a long moment, and then grinned. "I'm pleased, Sam."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Pleased?"

"Yes. You're everything I'd hoped you would become." She breathed. "You'll do _wonders_."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I don't know about that." He growled. "But I _swear_ I'm going to make you pay. You're going to beg for mercy before I'm through with you."

She smiled childishly. "I'm waiting."

Sam flung out his hands and concentrated—pushing all the power inside of him out through his fingertips toward the demon that had made his life a living hell. The power burned like red hot coals as it rushed through his veins—and he gritted his teeth in agony, in satisfaction, in _pleasure_. He smiled and pushed harder—

The house exploded.

The entire structure vaporized in the blink of an eye, overcome by a force far more terrible than any known weapon of destruction, more scorching than the surface of the hottest sun.

There wasn't a sound—there wasn't _time_ for a sound. What had happened betrayed all the laws of space _and_ time. It was impossible. It was horrific. It was _real_.

Sam stood alone, unharmed, in the center of the charred and smokeless crater his power had left behind. Not a hair on his head had been pushed out of place. He lowered his hands slowly—almost mechanically—as he glanced around. The crater stretched out in a perfect circle that far outreached just one house.

At least ten other houses had been obliterated as well. Screams finally pierced the stunned silence as children who had been playing in their yards outside of the destroyed area finally reacted with horror to the destruction that had taken place right in front of their eyes.

Something flickered in Sam's eyes as he heard their screams of terror escalate. He breathed in sharply and spun around, surveying the destruction—the _death_—that _he _was responsible for with growing horror and disbelief. "No…" he whispered, shocked. "This…I didn't…"

The air shifted beside him. "Well done." A voice said solemnly.

Sam's head snapped to the side and he stared in shock at the girl standing beside him. "_Lilith_?!" he gasped, breathing fast. "No. No no no no! You…you can't be—_how the hell are you still alive_?!"

"Relax Sam." Lilith said seriously. "That blast should have killed me. Lucifer shielded me so that I could carry out my purpose."

Sam's face twisted from a multitude of indescribable emotions, and he tried hopelessly to block out the survivors' screams and uncontrollable wailing in the background. "Lucifer…shielded you?" Sam muttered blankly, trying to grasp some sense of what had just happened…what he had just _done_. "Why?"

Lilith was silent for a moment, and then she knelt down on her knees in the ashes in front of him. "I was sent to bring you a message. From _him_."

Sam stared down at her for a moment before his gaze shifted back to the devastation he had just caused, back to the sobbing people… "What...what message?" he choked, and stopped. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else.

Lilith looked up at him reverently. "Welcome home, son."

If Sam had been terrified before, those three words ignited fear deep in his core. He shook his head. "No. No, I'm _not_ his _son_." He snapped. "And I…what I just did…" he trailed off, unable to draw his eyes away from the massive crater he had caused as his thoughts swirled around all the innocent people that had just died inside their houses, "That doesn't…doesn't make me like _him_. I didn't _mean _to do this!" his voice rose with desperation. "I don't know what happened! I didn't _want to_! I'm not his _son _just because he thinks I did some _amazing_…" he broke off suddenly and turned to the side and retched.

Lilith watched him patiently as he heaved—as he emptied his stomach of all its contents and then continued heaving until there was only air.

Sam finally glanced back at her, his hazel eyes full of pain—full of shock—silently begging her to leave, to not continue.

She smiled wryly and then elaborated further, "He didn't mean it metaphorically."

Sam's breath froze in his throat at the implications of her statement. "No." he said firmly. "No. _He's_ not my…" he trailed off, unable to finish. "_John_ was my father. Mary was my mother. I _know _that."

Lilith shook her head. "Well…Mary _was _your mother. But—"

"NO!" Sam shrieked. "STOP LYING!"

Lilith sighed, frustrated. "I'm _not_." She said quickly. "John wasn't your real father, Sam."

"No…no, Mom wouldn't have—"

"Oh of _course_ not." She said dismissively, "Mary knew about the deal she had made, but that's _all_. She had no idea about _this_. You could say that you were…hmm…a _miraculous_ birth." Lilith continued with an ironic smile, "And you and I both know that your father was kept in the dark most of his life—by Mary as much as everything else—so he certainly didn't know anything at all about it."

"I don't believe you. John was my father." Sam said again, unsure of what else to even say.

"How do you know? It's not like you ever went for a paternity test. You never even particularly _liked_ the man."

Sam shook his head. "No. No, I…you're wrong."

"Then how do you explain your powers?" she asked, gesturing around them.

Sam swallowed hard and forced his voice to be stronger. "Azazel…dripped demon blood into my mouth as a child."

"Oh come on, Sam. You can do better than _that_." Lilith said dismissively. "Look at what you just did…could _any _of his other 'special children' do anything even remotely like this?"

"I don't…maybe…"

"No." Lilith went on. "They couldn't. They could do little things…parlor tricks…nothing like what you're capable of. You know why, Sam?"

"Just _stop_." Sam breathed.

"You've been set apart from everyone else since you were _born_. You didn't need that demon blood…it helped give you a little jump start, but your powers would have developed even without it."

"What are you saying?" Sam muttered.

"Everything Azazel did was done according to Lucifer's orders. Everything that _I _ever did was only because Lucifer ordered it. The two of us have been working together, you might say…and everything we did was directed toward _you_."

"That doesn't make sense." Sam said finally. "Azazel killed me."

She shook her head. "Well…_yes…_but only because we had to get Dean out of the picture. We planted the idea of the crossroads in your brother's head during one of your earlier hunts…remember? And we made sure that you were killed near a crossroad." She paused. "And Dean took the bait. He brought you back and got himself sent to Hell."

Anger rose up inside of Sam. "You…you _planned _that?!"

"Yes. We _did_. But in all honesty we were _nice_ about it." She shuddered at the word. "We could have taken Dean that night, but we gave him a _year_, Sam. A year for you to get used to the idea that _big brother_ wasn't going to be around forever. Then, when Dean went to Hell, we gave him the choice to get off the rack. Do you think every soul gets that choice to stop that pain? We did that for _you_, because it's what you would have wanted. It's not our fault that it took him thirty years to accept the gift."

"What I _wanted_?!" Sam bellowed furiously, "I would have _wanted_ you to let Dean GO!" Sam shrieked. "You _broke_ him!" He lashed out in fury, snapping Lilith's neck back with a horrific crack before he proceeded to beat every square inch of her body with his fists.

Lilith gritted her teeth and caught one of Sam's fists in her strong grasp. "Dean was getting in the way…pulling you away from your true purpose."

"NO!" Sam yelled, freeing his hand. "You took everything from me! Everyone I loved—" he reached out his hand and a burst of energy shot through his palm, but the air around Lilith only _shimmered_. "Why won't you _die_?!"

"Lucifer is—"

"_Shielding_ you?" Sam bellowed, finishing her words. "Well tell him to _stop _because I'm going to tear you apart—"

"What we did—it was _necessary_, Sam. Dean's not your _true _family. He's just a human—"

"I'm human too!"

"Only _half_." Lilith said exasperatedly, reaching up to wipe blood out of her eyes. "Just accept your destiny, Sam. You can't hide from it—this is _who_ you _are_. And it's _time_."

"_Stop_." Sam hissed, roughly entwining her long red tresses in his fist and yanking her head up so that he could look her in the eyes. "Just get to the damn point Lilith…what the hell are you _really_ trying to tell me?!"

Lilith grinned softly. "Isn't it obvious yet?" she demanded, amused. "You're Lucifer's _son_, Sam…you're the Antichrist. You're the one that's going to end the world, _not_ me."

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	5. It's Sam

_Lilith grinned softly. "Isn't it obvious yet?" she demanded, amused. "You're Lucifer's __son__, Sam…you're the Antichrist. You're the one that's going to end the world, __not__ me."_

**It's _Sam_**

Sam froze.

His throat tightened as the final nail was driven into his coffin—into his life, into his _destiny_. He couldn't breathe.

He was…he was the…

"No…" he whispered. "No, I…" He stopped, and his horror deepened as he realized that his mind was blank. He couldn't even think of anything to say to prove her wrong. It all finally made sense. _Everything_. His whole life had been mapped out for him, a series of crucial points that led him to _this moment_. Everything he did, everyone he met—

Everything had been planned from the beginning. "Oh…_god_…" Sam choked, overcome as the gravity of the situation crashed down upon his shoulders.

Lilith tilted her head to the side and smirked. "No." She said, amused, "God has nothing to do with _you_."

Sam forced himself to draw in a shallow, shaky breath. The air tasted stale in his mouth, and he glanced back at Lilith. "Who…who knew?" he breathed, his voice unnaturally quiet. "Who knew about…me?"

Lilith shrugged. "Everyone."

Sam took a stumbling step back from her as though stung. His breaths quickened and he shook his head desperately. "No, no that's not true! It…it _can't _be true—"

"It's true, Sam. _Everyone_ knows what you are—every demon you've ever come across and every angel you've had the misfortune of meeting. They're _all _well aware of what you're destined to become. Why do you think your buddy Castiel was so determined to stop you from using your powers?"

"No." Sam gasped, horrified. "_No_. He would have told me…_someone_ would have told me…" he trailed off, and a triumphant glint suddenly shone in his eyes. "Ruby—"

"Ruby _knew_, Sam." Lilith interrupted dismissively, extinguishing the last spark of hope from Sam's hazel eyes. "She's been a major player in your transformation…she's been playing you for months, helping you prepare for your final role."

Sam felt bile raise up in his throat but forced it down. "She…she tricked me." Sam ground out, disgusted, "She tricked me into developing my powers…"

Lilith grinned softly. "Of _course_ she did…that was the _point _of getting Dean out of the picture, after all. You were _lost _without your _big brother_…lost enough that Ruby seemed like your only friend in the world—"

"SHUT-UP!" Sam shrieked angrily. "DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT DEAN!"

Lilith shrugged. "Fine…" she muttered, obviously agitated by Sam's reaction. "If it's any consolation, Dean doesn't know. None of the…_humans_…know—"

"I'm not doing it." Sam said fiercely, interrupting her.

Lilith sighed, amused. "Not doing what?"

"Destroying the world—whatever it is you want me to do—I…I won't do it—so go find yourself another Antichrist, because I don't want any part in this."

Lilith rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "Oh _please_." She muttered flatly, "Cut the damn heroics, Sam. Are you _really _that naïve? This is who you are, what you've been designed for. There's no one else that can do what you're going to do. Do you honestly think we have a runner up Antichrist sitting in the back corner of Hell, waiting to see if you want the job or not? Sorry Sam, this isn't a damn _play_. This is the end of the world, and _you _are going to end it."

"NO!" Sam shouted, enraged. "There's nothing you can do to force me—"

Lilith waved her hand dismissively. "Force you? We don't have to _force _you, Sam—you don't have a choice. You're going to end the world whether you want to or not. Our part is done—I don't care if you go hide out in a damn _cave _in the mountains for the next month, you're still going to bring about the Apocalypse, and there's _nothing _that you can do about it."

Sam shook his head and brought both his hands up to grip the sides of his head. "No no no…you're wrong…"

She smirked childishly. "Poor little Sammy…" she chirped in a sing-song voice, "All alone with his big bad destiny…"

Sam's teeth clamped together furiously. He raised his head slightly, glaring fixatedly at her. "I'll prove you wrong, Lilith. I _can _fight this."

She laughed. "Oh _stop_. You're acting like you've been cursed with the plague. Give it a week to sink in, Sam—it's not as bad as you're making it out to be. You're so powerful…and I _know_ you enjoy using your powers…"

Sam winced. "No."

Her grin widened. "Oh Sammy…you're just too cute. I can see right through your pathetic little lies. You're practically _drunk _with power. It's a drug to you—you can't stop."

Sam's glare deepened. "Yes." He said darkly. "It _is_ addictive." he paused, and then stepped closer and flashed her a dangerous grin. "Is Lucifer still shielding you?"

Lilith blinked, caught off guard. "No...not now. You're the Antichrist, Sam, _He _has given you free rein…you can do whatever you want, he won't stop you."

Sam's grin widened. His eyes were wild, glinting manically as he stared at her. "Good." He crooned simply. He raised his hand—

The air _sizzled_—

Her body dropped to the ground—charred black down to the bone.

Sam lowered his hand, listening to the whimpers of neighbors who were still standing around, too horrified to look away. In the back of his mind, Sam realized that he had just murdered the innocent girl Lilith had been possessing—but his mind was so terrified—so _numb_—that he couldn't bring himself to care.

He began walking away slowly—barely aware of the screams that filled the air as people bolted to get away from him. He stopped at the first car he came to and slid into the driver's side. He didn't even flinch as the car roared to life the second his hands touched the steering wheel.

He had angels to find, and he knew exactly where to find them.

_Dean._

**SNSNSN**

Finding Dean was almost _too _easy.

It only took Sam three hours to reach his destination, and he spotted the Impala parked outside a cheap motel during his first cruise around the small town. The car was clearly visible from the road, which was slightly unsettling. Surely the angels knew he was coming?

If it had been a _normal _day, Sam would have suspected a setup…but the painful knowledge Lilith had dumped on him took away all care for his safety.

The _Antichrist _didn't have to worry about a simple ambush.

He parked his borrowed car right next to the Impala and stepped out onto the newly paved lot. His eyebrows narrowed as he realized that he could hear voices arguing inside the room. He picked out Castiel's voice first, and then…

_Dean._

Sam felt himself automatically relax. He let out a long breath as he listened desperately to his brother's voice, clinging to every syllable, waiting for it to somehow sooth a miniscule fraction of the despair that had taken root deep inside his soul. Dean was his big brother, his best friend. He could fix _anything_.

Sam hesitated outside the door, listening intently to his brother speak, but he felt..._nothing_. No reassurance, no promise of safety. _Nothing_. Dean's voice was no more reassuring than a stranger's would be. His eyes darkened again, and he pulled himself back to reality. There was nothing Dean could do to help him, he had been doomed since birth. He was alone.

Sam swung the door open.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto him. Dean inhaled sharply, shocked, and lowered his gun. "_Sam_?!"

Sam couldn't bring himself to look at his brother. He dropped his eyes and focused on the two figures standing beside Dean—Castiel and Uriel. They looked just as surprised to see him as Dean was. He stepped into the room, keeping his desperate, furious gaze locked on the angels' faces.

Castiel stared back at him, realization dawning in his eyes as he studied Sam's expression. "You know." He said simply.

Sam gritted his teeth together so tightly that he couldn't say anything for a moment. Anger coursed through his veins so intensely that he was shaking. "How _dare _you." He hissed.

"What?" Dean said anxiously, completely confused. "What—what's going on?"

Sam ignored him and strode into the room until he was right in front of Castiel. He felt Uriel move forward to stop him and turned toward the second angel, his eyes glinting murderously. "Stay _back_." He ordered furiously, raising his hand.

Uriel stopped suddenly, as though he had reached an invisible shield.

Sam turned back to Castiel. "You _bastard._" He hissed, "You _knew_…about _me_…this whole time, and you—you—" he broke off, too angry to even finish.

Castiel understood. "Yes, Sam." He said, "We knew."

"Knew _what_?" Dean demanded, his eyes wild. "What are you talking about?"

Sam shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the angel. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?!" he shrieked furiously, "No, you know what? If you knew, then why didn't you just kill me?"

Castiel sighed. "We can't kill you…you're too powerful…and Lucifer is protecting you. That's why we have to wait."

"Wait for what?" Sam shouted angrily. "Cause the way I see it, killing me would solve a lot of your problems…the world can't end without me, right?" he declared bitterly. "I'm the key player."

Dean stepped forward towards his brother, his eyes fixed on Sam's face. "Sam…what are you talking about?"

"The world has to end now." Uriel broke in. "It is time—God has declared it. There will be a battle, God will win, and all evil will be destroyed forever."

"Evil like _me_, you mean?" Sam shot back.

Uriel's lip curled in disgust. "_Especially _you."

Dean's mouth fell open in shock. "What…what the hell are you all _talking_ _about_?" he demanded again. "Sam…" He stepped forward and wrapped his hand around his brother's arm. Sam turned to look at him for the first time, and Dean _flinched_. His brother's eyes…they were completely unfamiliar. There was no more warmth—no more _Sammy—_in them. Only indescribable pain and bottomless despair. Dean released his brother's arm as though he had been burned. "Sam?" he choked out. "Oh god, Sam—what's wrong?"

Sam held his brother's gaze, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrified look Dean was giving him. The corners of his mouth turned up lifelessly, void of any real humor. "I look like Hell, don't I Dean?" he muttered darkly.

Dean's mouth opened and shut soundlessly. "Sammy…"

"It's Sam, Dean." Sam corrected him lifelessly. "Sammy doesn't exist anymore."

Dean's throat tightened. "W-what? No, no. What's going on, Sam?!"

Sam ignored his brother. His eyes flicked over to Castiel, and he found the angel already staring back at him. He smiled back bitterly. "I have a theory…about why you brought Dean back from Hell."

Castiel sighed heavily. "What would that be?"

Sam stared back, pain glistening in his eyes. "He was my leash." He breathed, his voice close to breaking, "That's all he was to you—a tool to keep me in check for as long as possible."

Castiel stared at Sam for a long moment. "Yes." He said finally.

Sam's eyes slid shut as that final realization hit home. His breath caught in his throat and he felt himself shaking from the enormity of it all. "N-no…_please_ no…" he gasped quietly, unable to say anything else as an even deeper level of anguish settled upon him. It was one thing to believe the words of a demon—demons lie. But hearing the same words from the mouths of angels…

"What?" Dean stammered, jerking Sam back to reality. "What do you mean…I'm Sam's _leash_? How…that doesn't make sense. I mean…I know Sam's got…powers…but he's not _evil_."

Sam opened his eyes and found Dean staring down Castiel. He allowed himself to smile slightly, but it was a hopeless smile. "Dean…" he muttered softly.

Dean immediately turned back to Sam, his eyes searching for answers. He reached out to put a hand on his brother's shoulder, but Sam stepped back before he could make contact. Dean winced and pulled his hand back as though he had been burned. "Sam…what's going on? Just tell me…_please._"

Sam sighed and swallowed hard. _I have to tell him… _"I'm evil, Dean."

Dean shook his head violently. "No. NO. That's bullshit, Sam! You're not evil—I _know you. _For god's sake, you're my little brother! And I know—I _know_—that we've been fighting these last few months—but that doesn't make you _evil_!"

Sam shook his head wearily. "You're wrong, Dean."

Dean scowled and lunged forward, gripping Sam's arms tightly in both his hands. "No I'm _not wrong_!" he hissed back, shaking his brother slightly for emphasis. "Damn it, Sam, how many times do I have to tell you?! You're not evil—"

"You're _wrong_, Dean!!" Sam bellowed back, violently trying to free his arms from Dean's grasp.

Dean clung on so tightly that his nails were digging into his brother's skin, refusing to let him get away. "No, Sam—_Sammy_—I'm not! Just tell me what the hell is going on cause you're beyond freaking out and I don't have a damn clue _why_!"

"I'm not—you don't—DAMN IT, DEAN!" Sam shrieked furiously. He gave his brother one final shove and then went limp in his brother's grip. His head tilted forward in despair. "_Dean_…" he whimpered.

Dean's heart clenched. "Sam…oh god, Sammy…just…just tell me what's wrong. I can't help you unless you tell me."

"No one can help me." Sam whispered brokenly.

"No. No, that's not true." Dean said hurriedly, trying to smile for his brother, "Sammy, look at me. Look at me!" he waited until Sam finally swung his dejected gaze to meet his, "That's it, Sammy. Listen…we'll figure this out together. Whatever it is, alright? Just _tell_ _me_."

Sam nodded and swallowed hard. "Dean…I'm…"

Dean stared back at his brother, his heart pounding in his chest. "What? You're _what_, Sam?"

Sam shut his eyes and turned his head, unwilling to see the look in Dean's eyes once he knew the truth. "I'm…I'm the Antichrist."

**Hmm…wonder how well Dean will take **_**that**_** information…**

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	6. Uriel's Failure

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all the reviews I have gotten so far!! I'm sooo sorry that it took me so long to update. :( I've been really busy…but I won't bore you with the details. I hope this chapter will make up for the long wait. Enjoy!**

_Sam nodded and swallowed hard. "Dean…I'm…"_

_Dean stared back at his brother, his heart pounding in his chest. "What? You're __what__, Sam?"_

_Sam shut his eyes and turned his head, unwilling to see the look in Dean's eyes once he knew the truth. "I'm…I'm the Antichrist." _

**Uriel's Failure **

T_he Antichrist…I'm the Antichrist…I'm…_

Dean's hands went slack on his brother's shoulders, fingertips barely resting on Sam's old, torn up jacket. Sam's eyes were shut, his face turned away as though awaiting a killing blow.

Dean forgot how to speak. His mind swirled about in dull circles, stunned into silence.

Seconds ticked by.

Castiel audibly cleared his throat.

Dean unconsciously tilted his head toward the angel, expectant.

"Sam is Lucifer's son." Castiel affirmed softly, filling Dean with the cold facts he needed to hear, "He is destined to destroy the world."

Sam's bloodshot eyes fluttered open. His gaze focused on Dean's facial expression for a moment before locking onto Castiel. "But I don't _want_ to." He said, disgusted at how small and frightened his own voice sounded.

Castiel met his gaze unwaveringly and dipped his head forward in acknowledgement. "It's who you are…you don't have a choice."

Dean flinched.

Sam's face contorted at his brother's reaction and he stepped backwards, breaking the physical contact between them and allowing Dean's hands to fall limply to his sides. "I'm…I'm sorry." Sam whispered automatically, unsure of what else to say. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dean's brow narrowed and he finally met Sam's gaze. "You…" he muttered blankly, and trailed off.

Sam stood there hopelessly.

Uriel's lips pressed firmly together in impatient disgust, and he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. His narrowed pupils flicked to Castiel's. "Let's just do it." He muttered darkly.

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Castiel's face at the simple words. His facial muscles tightened into a stern mask. "Not now." He ground out through clenched teeth.

"But he _doesn't want this_." Uriel spat out. "You heard him. I bet he wouldn't even try to stop us."

"Stop you from what?" Sam demanded, his voice hard. "Killing me?"

_That_ was exactly what it took to finally provoke a reaction from Dean. The words cut through the smoky muddle of his mind like a knife and dragged him back to the surface. "_What_?"

Castiel scowled furiously at Uriel's suggestion. "We weren't ordered to kill him, Uriel." He spoke slowly, dangerously, each word seeming to echo unnaturally in the small room. "If we killed him now, we would only succeed in angering Lucifer and provoking the war to an earlier date."

Uriel's lips curled up into a sneer. "Well…" he began triumphantly, "There's a simple solution for that, isn't there? _We_ don't have to kill him."

Before Sam had time to process the cryptic remark, the angel tossed a small object his way. Sam reached out and caught it out of reflex, his hazel eyes looking down curiously at the item in his hands.

A gun.

Sam inhaled sharply, feeling the reassuring weight of the cool metal in his hands—

"_Hell no_!" a voice boomed angrily, and the gun was roughly ripped out of Sam's grasp. "No! He's not—No! That's not happening! No one is killing him. _No one_. Do you understand me?!"

Sam stared down at his empty hands for a moment, motionless. As a few seconds ticked by he felt the corners of his mouth turning up softly. He couldn't help it. The situation was far from amusing, far from funny, but the knowledge that Dean had just forcefully made his decision for him illuminated what his brother was thinking far more clearly than he could have ever expressed in words.

Sam's eyes lifted and he focused on Dean's back. As he watched, Dean angrily hurled the weapon into the farthest corner of the room. The gun slammed into the wall with a metallic clatter and landed harmlessly on the shaggy tan carpet.

Uriel glowered at him, his forehead creased in unconcealed frustration. "You would take his side?" he demanded. "Why? You know what he is."

Dean swallowed hard, his mind still swirling in a mess of confliction. "He's my brother."

"Only _half_." Uriel chuckled cruelly. "And that other half—of your _brother_—is an evil second only to Lucifer himself. You can't even _imagine_ what little _Sammy _is capable of."

"That's enough." Castiel murmured sternly.

Uriel shook his head. "No. It's not enough. I'm not going to just wait around for him to set Lucifer free."

He stepped towards Sam, but Castiel appeared in his path, stopping him. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"What we should have done when we first set eyes on _him_." Uriel spat darkly, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Now get out of my way."

Dean stepped backwards until he was pressed up against Sam, knowing perfectly well that he would never be able to shield his brother if Uriel carried through with his threat. He had never been more afraid in his entire life. Dean was used to having some semblance of control…but _now…_

Now he was trapped between two angels and…and the _Antichrist_. And _Sam_ was had no control left.

Uriel pushed Castiel roughly away and shut his eyes. He breathed in deeply and raised his arms up—

Sam realized what was about to happen with a horrified jolt. He wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulder and thrust his brother out of the way. "Shut your eyes!" he shouted to him, hoping to god that he listened.

"NO!" Castiel shouted, reaching for Uriel. "This isn't what God—"

Uriel exploded in a flash of piercing white light.

Sam stood frozen to the spot, his eyes wide open in wonder. All sound faded away, leaving nothing but a brightness that shone like billions of reflective diamonds. The light was so _pure_, so beautiful. It stretched out in every direction for as far as he could see, and everything else—the hotel room, Dean—was gone. Insignificant.

Then—

A man stood in front of him—no, not a man. More than a man…so much more. Sam's mouth fell open in shock, in horror, in awe—

Wings unfolded, arching upwards into the pure, brilliant light. Then—

Agony.

Sam screamed as blinding, all encompassing pain slammed into his body like nothing he had ever experienced before. Daggers twisted, lava burned, boiling water cooked his organs from the inside out—

Sam's uncontrollable shriek increased in volume as he fell to his knees. The agony was inextinguishable, devouring his soul, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

Nothing.

"NOO!" Sam screamed desperately and raised his head in defiance, throwing his eyes wide open, unaware of the tears of blood that were seeping down his face in dozens of coppery tracks. "NO!"

Something unseen shot outwards through Sam as he spoke—and the light vanished in an instant, extinguished completely.

Sam was back, kneeling on the floor of the dimly lit hotel room—covered in blood—but alive.

"Sammy." He heard Dean choke out, and then Dean was crouching beside him, his green eyes filled with more terror than Sam had even seen before.

Sam breathed in deeply—and paused. Something wasn't right. The air tasted stale in his mouth—stale and dead. He paused, confused, and then stopped breathing.

There was no pressure, no overwhelming need to take a breath. It was as though he didn't even need air anymore…but he wasn't dead.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, and Sam looked up and met his brother's frantic gaze. "Sam—oh god—Sam talk to me. What's wrong with you?"

Sam blinked hard and realized that something was bothering his eyes. He reached up and wiped his right eye and cheek with the back of his hand—it came off thick and sticky with blood. He still didn't feel the need to breathe, but he took a breath anyway, experimentally. "Dean?"

Dean nodded fervently. "Yeah, Sammy, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay." He rambled quickly, nearly hysterical.

"I think…" Sam said slowly, "I'm not breathing, Dean." He said, and then took another breath only because he had run out of air and wanted to keep talking, "I…I think something…something's _different_…about me…"

Dean had been freaked before, and nothing Sam was saying was helping. "_What_?" he managed to choke out.

Sam shook his head helplessly. He rose to his feet, marveling at how light—how weightless—he felt. His gaze fell on Castiel. The angel was staring back at him with unveiled resignation.

"You killed Uriel, Sam." He accused softly.

Sam frowned. His memory focused on the perfect light, on the _pain_. "I…yes." He admitted simply, astonished, his brow furrowed as he sought to remember what he had done. "He was…he was killing me, and it…it just…happened."

"No." Dean said hurriedly, staggering to his feet. "Uriel's an _angel_. You can't…you can't kill _angels_. No one can."

Sam shook his head slowly, contemplatively. "I think I just did."

Castiel's lips tightened. "Dean…it's time for us to leave. We have work to do. Lilith's followers are already working on breaking the remaining seals."

Sam cocked his head to the side. "But you already said that you can't stop them. That Lucifer will be set free regardless of what you do."

Castiel looked directly at him, his eyes cold. "I have my orders, Sam."

"Well I don't." Dean broke in harshly. "I don't have any orders. And you—you can't make me do anything."

Castiel frowned. "You have orders from God. If it wasn't for him you would still be in Hell—"

"Damn it! Stop throwing that in my face!" Dean shrieked furiously, stepping forward until his nose was mere inches from Castiel's. "I don't want _anything_ to do with you—or _Him_—or any of you! This whole ordeal has gone too damn far—I never wanted _any_ of this!"

Castiel was silent for a moment, watching the uneven rise and fall of the man's shoulders as his breaths came out as angry gusts of air. "I really am sorry Dean." He said levelly. "But you're coming with me regardless of what you want."

"No. No I'm not. I'm staying with Sam." Dean hissed.

Castiel's expression hardened again. "Sam just killed an angel, Dean. He's the Antichrist, and he can't fight his destiny—he's not your brother anymore."

Dean shook his head angrily, his eyes shining. "Sam will _always _be my brother."

Sam watched their exchange, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. He knew what was inevitably going to happen, but it still left him feeling hollow and empty inside when Castiel disappeared, taking Dean with him.

Sam was left alone in the small hotel room. The blood on his face had ceased dripping and was starting to harden into crusty streaks over his flesh. A sob caught in his throat, fighting to break free, but he swallowed it furiously.

He knew what he had to do.

**I hope this chapter met your expectations! Please leave me a REVIEW and let me know what you thought. Thanks! :)**


	7. Transformation

_Sam watched their exchange, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. He knew what was inevitably going to happen, but it still left him feeling hollow and empty inside when Castiel disappeared, taking Dean with him._

_Sam was left alone in the small hotel room. The blood on his face had ceased dripping and was starting to harden into crusty streaks over his flesh. A sob caught in his throat, fighting to break free, but he swallowed it furiously._

_He knew what he had to do._

**Transformation**

**One Month Later**

Dean slowly stepped forward into the abandoned building. The ancient floors creaked and groaned dangerously under his feet, and he carefully stepped away from a section of the floor had already fallen in. He gripped his gun tightly and listened intently for any telltale sounds that would alert him to the demon's presence.

He never even heard it coming.

An invisible force pinned him roughly against the nearest wall before he even had a chance to register what was happening. Dean hissed in pain at the impact and felt his weapon knocked loose from his hand. _Shit._

A man stepped up to him, his black eyes glistening in the moonlight. "Well hello, Dean. Fancy meeting you here."

Dean gritted his teeth, his mind racing. "The pleasure's all yours, believe me." He grunted back, straining to reach his gun.

"I don't think so." The demon retorted, absentmindedly kicking the weapon across the room and into the hole in the floorboards. Dean heard it slam into the ground below with a heavy clunk. The demon smiled. "After all…you are the brother of a legend."

Dean's eyes attentively focused on the face of his opponent, on his smirking lips and twinkling black eyes. "You know Sam."

The demon shrugged. "Of course I know Sam…that's why you're here, isn't it? To force me to talk? To make me tell you all I know?" he paused, and then shook his head. "If you ask me, it was a damn foolish plan—"

"Where is he?!" Dean demanded angrily.

"See? I knew this wasn't just a friendly social call."

Dean seethed. "Tell me where Sam is."

"You're the one pinned against the wall, Dean. You're hardly in a position to make demands."

Dean strained angrily against his invisible bonds. "So what are you going to do? Kill me?"

The demon laughed. "Oh _hell no_!" he said, grinning darkly as though Dean had just told a hilarious joke. "I'm only here to intercept you and try to dissuade you from tracking down demons. I'm not going to kill you."

"Why not?"

The demon shrugged. "Well…if you must know, Sam's declared you off limits."

Dean's mouth fell open slightly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The demon leaned forward, studying Dean's expression. He laughed. "I like you, Dean. You're…interesting." He reached out and snapped his fingers.

Dean felt the pressure on his limbs vanish and he dropped a few inches down to the floor. He looked up at the demon, confused. "What are you _doing_?"

"I'm sorry, did you prefer being trapped like a bug against that wall?" He said mockingly, flashing a smile.

Dean snarled, reaching in his pocket for _the knife_, "Listen, I don't know who the hell you think you are—"

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I? My name's Beelzebub. You might have heard of me?"

Dean's face paled.

"You _have _heard of me." Beelzebub smirked, pleased.

"You're a fallen angel." Dean breathed, horrified, the knife all but forgotten in his pocket. "Sam knows you?"

"Knows me? He's the one that sent me here to talk to you."

Dean froze. He felt as though all the air had been squeezed out of his lungs. "W-what?"

Beelzebub sighed. "You really have absolutely no idea what's happened this last month, do you?" he said, a smile creeping across his face. "I would absolutely _love _to ruin your already demolished life by explaining what Sam's been up to for the last thirty days, but I'm afraid I have other things to do today. If you want the delicious facts you better go talk to Castiel…I have good reason to believe that he's keeping something from you."

Dean shook his head dismissively. "Sam would never work for you."

Beelzebub laughed again. "You're too funny, you know that? You don't have a clue." he said rudely. "Sam's not working for me, _I'm _working for _Sam_."

Dean was struck speechless. _No…that's not possible…_

"Your brother sent me here with a message." Beelzebub continued, breaking through Dean's horror stricken mind. "Would you like to hear it, or should I just leave before you make a pathetic attempt to stab me with that knife in your pocket?"

Dean took a deep breath and licked his lips. "W-why didn't Sam just come talk to me himself?"

Beelzebub grinned, flashing a mouth full of perfect white teeth. "Again—funny. I should come bother you more often, you're very entertaining."

Dean gritted his teeth in fury. "Just answer the damn question!"

"No." the demon said playfully. "But I will deliver the message."

Dean's hands balled up into fists at his side. He was shaking furiously.

Beelzebub took a large theatrical breath and grinned mockingly. "Sam said, and I quote, 'Don't make me have to kill you Dean. Stay out of this.'"

Dean jerked backward as though slapped in the face. "S-Sam said…_No_. No, I don't believe you—"

"Well, he did sound _remorseful _as he said it, if that's any consolation." Beelzebub interrupted with a noncommittal shrug, tilting his head to the side as though listening to something, "Well, I'd love to stick around and chat and…you know…bask in your misery, but I'm afraid that your _guardian_ _angel _is on his way here." He grinned as though he had just made a great joke. "To save you from _me_…as if I would ever dare to hurt you without Sam's approval. That angel of yours can be so clueless at times."

"Castiel's not _my _angel." Dean protested, annoyed, stepping forward until he was mere inches from the face of the fallen angel. "And you're lying. Sam didn't say that."

"Okay then, if you want to live in fantasy land you go right ahead." Beelzebub grinned. "Otherwise, I'm here if you ever want to talk, kid—just give me a holler."

"You—"

Beelzebub disappeared.

Dean let out an angry yell. "Damn it! _No_! Come back!"

The air shimmered and Castiel appeared beside him. "Dean, we need to talk."

Something inside Dean that had been stretched past its breaking point finally snapped. His wild eyes fixed furiously on the angel, and he stood his ground. "NO!" he shouted lividly, his eyes glinting frantically. "I'm sick of being played with! I don't want anything to do with you! I'm going to find Sam, and you just chased away my only lead—"

"Silence!" Castiel hissed, and suddenly his presence seemed to loom dominantly, filling the old crumbling house.

Dean clamped his lips shut.

"_Never_ talk to me like that." Castiel boomed darkly. He studied Dean, taking in his disheveled look and the dark bags under his eyes, and his voice softened. "I gave you your chance to find Sam on your own. I don't know if we would have been able to reach him, but I let you try."

"I can still find him." Dean murmured desperately. "Just give me more time."

"I already found him." Castiel said solemnly. "A few days ago."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Dean demanded, anger creeping back into his voice.

"Dean…it's too late for you to save Sam."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean hissed.

Castiel frowned at Dean's disrespect but continued. "Five more seals have been broken this month. That leaves only two to be broken before Lucifer is released."

"I already know that." Dean broke in impatiently. "What's that got to do with my brother?"

Castiel frowned and squared his shoulders. "Sam was the one that broke them."

**SNSNSN**

Ruby stepped lightly down the dimly lit corridor, her auburn hair trailing behind her in soft waves.

When she reached _his_ door, she hesitated, and her perfectly manicured hand hovered reluctantly above the simple brass doorknob.

The door swung open before she could touch it.

"Ruby." A dark voice murmured. "Come in, please."

She winced and withdrew her hand as though she had been burned. After taking a deep breath for courage, she smoothed down her jean skirt and tread lightly into the dark room. The sound of her heels resonated loudly on the wooden floor.

He was upon her before she even saw him, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso from behind. She tensed, a mouse caught in a trap.

His breath was hot beside her ear, and when he spoke his voice was barely a whisper. "How's my little traitor?"

Ruby gritted her teeth in discomfort but didn't try to pull away. "Sam. Let me go."

Sam laughed, amused. He squeezed her body tighter for a moment and sloppily kissed her cheek before roughly pushing her away from him. She tumbled onto the floor in front of his feet with a hiss, but instead of standing back up she turned her face in his direction, submissive.

Sam was silent for a moment, his face completely hidden in shadow. "And what news has my darling _sweetheart_ brought for me today?" he asked, falsely cheerful, "I _do_ hope that it's good news…"

Ruby mumbled something unintelligible.

"What's that?" Sam asked, and laughed, "Can't you talk today? I seem to remember a time when I couldn't get you to shut the hell up."

Ruby cleared her throat. "The remaining vampires…they've decided to side with you."

"Oh _really_?" Sam said teasingly.

"Yes." Ruby ground out, shifting her legs to the side, "Apparently they found your last demonstration very…persuasive."

Sam smiled. "Already?"

"You wiped out an entire _colony_, Sam." Ruby interjected suddenly, with a faint echoing of her old spark. "You didn't even give them a warning."

Sam stared at her for a long moment, and shrugged. "It was fun, though. I enjoyed it immensely."

"It was arrogant and stupid." Ruby spat bitterly, throwing caution to the wind. "You are going to need all the help you can get for the final battle, and you're—"

She was up in the air before she could say another word, her hands crushed together above her head in his clenching grip as he held her up in front of him. Her feet dangled helplessly a few feet from the ground. Her face was level with Sam's, and she flinched at the coldness of his black eyes.

"Sssshhhhhh." Sam murmured softly, using his free hand to press a finger to her lips. He smiled, and a triumphant gleam shone through the blackened pools of his eyes at her unveiled terror. "This is what you _wanted_, Ruby." He taunted her, "This is what you _trained _me for. All the demons are on my side now—and the _vampires_, and the _werewolves_, and," he grinned wider, "_Everything. _You should be _happy._"

She whimpered and clamped her teeth tightly together, trying to get away from the horrible burning sensation that his finger left on her lips.

Sam threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, my _darling_ _angel_." He spat, twisting the pet name into a curse the second it fell from his lips. "We're going to be _so _happy together."

_No no no no no no—_

Ruby nodded her head frantically in time to the horrified denial in her head, her feet kicking fearfully below her.

Sam suddenly looked away from her and tensed, as though he was listening to something she couldn't hear. His gaze focused back on her for only a moment, a sneer planted firmly on his face. "Duty calls, my sweet." He said tauntingly. "Be good."

He disappeared.

Ruby dropped heavily to the hardwood floor with a loud thud that echoed in the empty room. She lay there for a moment, breathing hard from the horror that came from being face to face with the Antichrist. With _Sam_.

After a few minutes passed, she recovered herself enough to climb steadily to her feet. She took a moment to smooth down her denim skirt and then walked back into the hallway, her heels clicking rhythmically on the wood as her auburn hair twisted back behind her.

**SNSNSN**

Dean returned to his hotel room in a stupor, his mind too full of thoughts of angels and demons to actually allow him to _think_.

He dropped his keys with a clatter on the rickety table beside the door and sunk down onto his bed. He stood back up hurriedly and paced to the other side of the room, paused, and then walked back and sunk down onto the bed again.

He stood up—

"Dean." Castiel said, right beside him.

Dean's hands balled up into fists at his sides at the unwanted intrusion. "I told you to give me a minute." He hissed.

"You're wasting valuable time."

"All I want is ONE DAMN MINUTE!" Dean exploded. "That's _it_! That's all! That's all I want, that's all I'm asking you for! For God's sake you took _everything_ _else_ from me, can't you just give me _one_ _damn minute_?!"

Silence.

Dean turned, breathing heavily with uncontrollable emotion, and to his surprise he found the room vacant. He sank back down onto the bed, and this time he stayed down.

Suppressed tears finally leaked from his eyes as reality finally clicked in Dean's mind, and he pressed both hands to his eyes to try to stop the impending flood. "_No_..." he choked out, "S-sammy..."

It was all true.

Sam was controlling _fallen angels_. Sam was controlling _demons._ Sam had broken _five_ of the _seals_.

Sam was the Antichrist.

He had lost his baby brother to the same forces they had fought against their entire lives. He had _failed_.

How could he possibly save him now? Sam was so powerful—

A primal scream ripped through Dean's throat, and he leapt to his feet in a rush of adrenaline and anger, his hands clenched as he shook uncontrollably. He wanted to run, to beat the shit out of something, to kill _anything_—

_Anything_ but Sammy. Anything but that--anything but what Castiel wanted him to do.

_You have to...it's the only way to save Sam..._

Dean strode toward the door, grabbed the handle, and yanked _hard_. The door didn't budge, as though it was glued shut. He pulled again, cursing loudly, and as he glanced up something caught his attention through his blurred vision.

A piece of paper was taped to the door. It hadn't been there a minute before, and—

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock and he reached out and ripped the paper off the door in one swift motion, all else forgotten. He ran a hand down over his eyes, trying to clear his vision as he hurriedly read the three words that were written in Sam's handwriting.

_Find the sword._

**Please leave me a REVIEW! Your feedback is really encouraging to me and helps me write faster. :) Thanks!!**


	8. Find the Sword

**Hello! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews I got for the last chapter! **

**Note: I was amused when I saw the preview for an upcoming episode of SN and it mentioned Lucifer's sword…in all honesty I developed the idea for using a sword before I heard it mentioned, and I'm not actually using **_**Lucifer's**_** sword, as you will find in this chapter. In any case, enjoy! :)**

_Dean's mouth dropped open in shock and he reached out and ripped the paper off the door in one swift motion, all else forgotten. He ran a hand down over his eyes, trying to clear his vision as he hurriedly read the three words that were written in Sam's handwriting._

_Find the sword._

**Find the Sword**

Dean turned the crumpled slip of paper over, searching desperately for something else.

It was blank.

The moment of hope vanished in an instant, leaving him even more drained and exhausted than before. He sank down onto his bed, the note clenched tightly between his shaking fingers as his green eyes focused on Sam's writing.

_Find the sword._

He read the words forward and backward, analyzed them inside and out for any possibility of hidden meaning and drew a complete blank. As the disappointment faded, he discovered that he couldn't bring himself to look away. The professional curve and swoop of each letter gave him strength through the knowledge that _Sam _had written this, that _Sam _had contacted him.

There was only one problem.

What the hell did it mean?

Dean heard a noise outside, and his eyes nervously scanned the dimly lit room. Castiel was nowhere to be seen, and he exhaled softly and turned back to the note with renewed fervor.

_Find the sword. _What sword?

He stood up and began pacing across the room, his mind working furiously to decode the message. After a few minutes he abruptly halted and sighed loudly. "Damn it, Sammy." He muttered absently. "Half the time I couldn't get you to shut up, and now that I need you to talk all I get is three little words? A _riddle_? You know I don't do riddles."

Nothing.

Dean ran a hand over his tired eyes and resumed pacing. "What is this supposed to mean, anyway?" Dean continued, resuming his conversation with the empty air, "I don't know of any swords…unless of course you mean _Excalibur_, but I'm guessing King Arthur has zilch to do with this apocalyptic business."

He trailed off and stopped pacing, uncomfortable with the hollow tone his voice possessed in the empty room. "Come on, man…" he pleaded softly. "You gotta give me something else here…"

Nothing.

Frustrated, he shoved the crumpled paper down into his back pocket and lied down on his bed, allowing the three words to circle cruelly inside his mind.

_Find the sword. Find the sword. Find the sword. Find the sword—_

There was a knock at the door.

Dean jumped at sound and then frowned deeply in self deprecation, furious that he had allowed himself to be caught off guard.

Someone rapped on the door again, louder this time.

Dean pulled out his gun as he stood up. As he walked to the door, he tried not to envision all the horrific things that would want to lure him outside and pound all his bones into dust. He cautiously opened the door a crack and peered through.

A balding, middle aged man stared back at him through bespectacled eyes. "Hello." He said pleasantly. "I've got a package for a…" he trailed off and looked down at a clipboard that he grasped in one hand, "Mr. Dean Winchester."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he hurriedly sat the gun down on the table behind the door before he pulled the door open the rest of the way. "Really?"

The man's eyes crinkled in amusement. "Yep. Says so right here, sir." He said, handing the clipboard to Dean. "Just sign beside your name."

Dean accepted the clipboard and scrawled his signature on the paper with a borrowed ballpoint pen. As he handed it back he was given a simple cardboard box. "You have a nice day." The man drawled, and strolled back to his truck with a friendly wave.

Dean stood there with a baffled look on his face, holding the box rigidly as though it were a bomb that might go off at any second. Finally, he turned and stepped back into his room, kicking the door shut behind him. He sat the box down on the table and stared at it for about thirty seconds before deciding that he might as well open it.

He slipped a knife out of his pocket and sliced through the packing tape with ease. He pried open the cardboard flaps and carefully peered into the box to get a glimpse of what was inside.

It was a Bible.

Dean stared down at it for a long time, and then the corners of his lips turned upward slightly. "Alright, Sam." He muttered. "I'll play."

He picked the thick black book out of the box and sat it down on the rickety wooden table. He flipped it open to a random page and began to read, but stopped after a few paragraphs when he realized that it had nothing to do with a sword and everything to do with building an ark. "This could take a while." He said, staring down blankly at the book. "You know I've…I've never read this thing before. I don't know what I'm _doing_." He muttered helplessly. "Does it have to be such a…a _big _book?"

He sat down in the ratty chair beside the table and quickly flipped through the tissue paper pages until he reached the end of the book, hoping for a glossary of some kind. Instead, he found several maps…and a concordance. "Oh." He said with a small smile. "This'll work." He thumbed through the concordance until he located the word 'sword'—and his face fell as he saw how many times swords were mentioned throughout the Bible.

"Alright…" he said with a heavy sigh. "Guess I'll start with sword number one…at Genesis 3:24…whatever that means."

After a few minutes of searching, he managed to find the passage. He began reading slowly, taking in every word:

_After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life._

The passage ended there abruptly.

Dean paused and reread the passage with a sinking, knotted feeling growing in his stomach. He knew, without a doubt,that _this _was exactly what he was supposed to find, what Sam had meant by _the sword_. Using his limited knowledge of the Bible, he contemplated the implications of a _flaming sword_, _cherubim_, and _the Garden of Eden._

The Garden of Eden.

_Find the sword._

"Damn, Sammy…" he trailed off, overcome by the impossible magnitude of his situation. "This is…this…" he paused, and shook his head in helpless disbelief, unable to express himself. "Oh shit."

**SNSNSN**

"Oooooohh Ruby!"

Ruby flinched. She straightened up quickly on the old musty couch in their hideout, unable to suppress the terrified flutter of her heart. He appeared beside her in an instant, all smiles, his black eyes twinkling merrily.

"Sam."

"Who else?" Sam's smile widened. "Glad to see me?"

"Always." Ruby ground out through clenched teeth. Her attempt to smile soured into a grimace before it even reached her lips.

Sensing her discomfort, Sam reached out and pulled her close to him. His satisfaction increased tenfold as her muscles instantly tensed under his hand. "It's nearly finished." He said, running a hand through her silky hair.

Ruby glanced up at him, relaxing for a moment as the news took over all other cares in her mind. "You broke another seal?"

Sam grinned sinisterly. "Sixty-five down…" he said in a sing-song voice, stroking a finger gently down Ruby's cheek.

She flinched at his touch, as though he had dragged a burning coal across her skin.

Sam's eyes twinkled. "...and only one to go."

**SNSNSN**

Dean stood up slowly, his thoughts still racing through his head. How could Sam possibly expect him to find _that _sword? It was completely impossible. First of all, he had absolutely no idea where the Garden of Eden was—sure, there was speculation, but if people _really_ knew its location, it would have been found long ago and some idiot would have turned it into a major tourist attraction. Secondly, even _if _he knew where it was, and could magically get there, he severely doubted that the _cherubim _thing—whatever that was—would just give it to him.

Hell, finding _Santa Clause _would probably be easier than this insanity, and he didn't even exist. At least…he was _pretty sure _he didn't.

Dean walked absentmindedly into the bathroom and grabbed a plastic cup from beside the sink. He stared past his reflection in the mirror as he filled it with lukewarm water, unable to understand how Sam would _ever_ expect him to be able to find that sword.

He lifted the cup to his lips and allowed the liquid to flow into his mouth—

He spat it out, spraying the contents of the cup all over the wall and mirror in front of him. He stared at the crimson splatter, and his mouth dropped open in shock and disgust.

He dropped the cup on the floor and turned on the faucet, and his heartbeat sped up as thick, red blood squirted from the tap and swirled down the drain. "Oh god…" he muttered.

"He broke another seal." A voice said behind him.

Dean quickly turned the faucet off and turned to face Castiel. "What?" he demanded weakly.

"Sam broke another seal." The angel explained darkly. "Your brother released the ten plagues of Egypt onto the Earth…" he gestured to the splatter, "Water to blood…this is the first plague."

Dean paled. "I don't understand…" he said shakily. "I…what side is he _on_?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed at him. "What are you talking about?"

Dean shook his head, avoiding the angel's gaze as he tried to grasp what Sam had done. _The ten plagues of Egypt…_ "But that means…" he said slowly, horrified, "That means that only one more seal needs to be broken."

"Yes." Castiel said simply. "That's exactly what it means."

**PLEASE REVIEW! THANKS!! :)**


	9. The Plagues

**Thank you all for your kind reviews of the last chapter, I really appreciate it. You're all awesome! :) That said, here's the next chapter—be prepared, it's very dark—**

**Enjoy!**

"_Sam broke another seal." The angel explained darkly. "Your brother released the ten plagues of Egypt onto the Earth…" he gestured to the splatter, "Water to blood…this is the first plague."_

_Dean paled. "I don't understand…" he said shakily. "I…what side is he __on__?"_

_Castiel's eyes narrowed at him. "What are you talking about?"_

_Dean shook his head, avoiding the angel's gaze as he tried to grasp what Sam had done. __The ten plagues of Egypt…__ "But that means…" he said slowly, horrified, "That means that only one more seal needs to be broken."_

"_Yes." Castiel said simply. "That's exactly what it means."_

**The Plagues**

"No." Dean said, shaking his head angrily as though denying everything could make the truth vanish. "No no no no. NO!" he forcefully pushed Castiel out of the way and charged out of the bathroom. "I can't do this. I can't…deal…with this."

"Dean…I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, really I am." Castiel said softly, a remorseful grimace twisting his face, "I know you love your brother more than anything. But if you want to save him…this is the only way."

"Stop!" Dean shouted. He spun around to face the angel. "Cas, just _stop_. I…I can't, I…" he swallowed hard. "I know what you're asking me to do, and I can't, okay? Not _that_. Don't ask that of me. _Please_."

"If there was any other way I'd walk out this door and you would never see me again." Castiel said quietly. "But there's no one else to ask. Sam still trusts you…you're the only one that can do it."

"Do what?!" Dean boomed. "Kill Sam? Kill my _brother_?"

A blast of Metallica music splayed through the stale air of the hotel room, interrupting Castiel before he could speak. Dean gave Castiel one final look of disgust before walking over to where he had left his phone on the bedside table, grateful for the interruption.

As he picked up the device he felt an involuntary shiver spread through his body from his fingertips. The screen, while lit up, didn't display the number calling. He frowned and flipped the phone open.

The music stopped abruptly, leaving the room as silent as a tomb. A hiss of static blared through the speaker.

"Hello?" Dean said guardedly.

"Dean." A voice whispered quietly, cutting through the static like a knife.

_That voice…_

Dean's heart skipped a beat.

He tensed, frozen, and his blood resumed pumping furiously through his veins. Barely able to breathe, he slowly turned away from Castiel, toward the center of the room.

"_Sam_?" he choked out. "Sammy? Oh, thank…thank…" he trailed off, unable to bring himself to say the words.

_God. Thank God. _

Sam seemed to understand what he had meant to say. He laughed loudly. The violent sound almost masked the static buzz completely.

Dean flinched. Sam's laugh was distorted, foreign in his ears.

_All wrong, all wrong, this is all wrong—_

"Sammy…" he managed to whisper. "Where are you?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Sam's voice muttered gravelly. "Believe me."

Dean swallowed hard at the unmasked threat and sank down onto the bed, unsure of how much longer his shaky legs would actually support him. "Sam…_please. _Don't do this. What you're doing…just stop. _Please. _You can stop."

"No."

Dean's face twisted into a mask of anger, pain, grief. "_Why_??" he hissed.

"I can't, Dean. I remember everything now."

Dean shook his head, unable to wake up from the nightmare. "Remember _what?!" _

"Me." Sam said darkly. "Who I am."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Dean shouted furiously, gripping the phone so tightly that his fingers whitened under the strain. "Damnit, Sam! I already _know_ who you _are_!"

"You don't understand—"

"You're my pain in the ass little brother!" Dean continued shakily, interrupting Sam, "You're the one that was always afraid to kill people, the one that always had my back and wanted to fight tooth and nail against this supposed 'destiny.' The one that was obsessed with saving everyone and everything you came across. You were—you—" Dean stopped speaking and froze, horrified, as he realized what he had been doing.

And of course Sam understood. His voice came through the speaker, amused. "Dean, you're talking about me in the past tense. Like I've already died."

And he'd be damned if that wasn't it, the crux of the whole ordeal. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, and when he spoke again his voice was barely a whisper, "Maybe you have."

Sam laughed again, and Dean found himself loathing the sound. "Dean…things are different now."

"No. They're _not _different, they don't have to be different." Dean expelled brokenly, knowing it was a blatant lie even as he pushed the words past his dry lips, "God, Sammy, you're my _brother_. My little brother. I…I'd do _anything_ for you. And you…it's like you're not even _Sam_ anymore." He paused and then pushed forward, not caring how pathetic he sounded. "I…I want my brother back. I want _Sam_."

Static hissed through the receiver for a long time. Dean was afraid that Sam had hung up on him, but his brother's empty voice finally came through. "I'm sorry." He said flatly. "That's the one thing I can't give you."

_Click. _

**SNSNSN**

_The darkness drops again but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep  
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?_

_-W. B. Yeats, The Second Coming_

Sam stepped out the door of his hideout—an old apartment right in the center of Washington D.C. He stared up unblinkingly at the bright summer sun as it hovered brilliantly golden in the blue horizon. The slivers of pavement he could still see were steaming in the heat of the day, but there was no warmth on his skin. He felt cold, empty.

It was a beautiful day.

He waited at the base of the steps, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, until Ruby joined him. "Morning sweetheart." He said pleasantly, grinning as he wrapped a muscular arm around her slender shoulders. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Ruby stared straight ahead, gazing blankly at reality.

_Isn't it wonderful? _

The street was completely covered with frogs, their little bodies wriggling and crawling over one another in a massive pit of slime. They coated the earth so thickly that it was impossible to cross the street without hearing their reptilian bodies crunch and ooze with every step.

_Isn't it beautiful? _

The city air was thick with flies and fat brown locusts that swarmed all over everything, coating buildings, traffic lights, cars, and people. _Oh_, the people.

Sobbing girls, clutching dolls with locusts clinging, clinging, clinging to their yellow stringy hair. Trying to pull them out of their shirt sleeves as they run, blindly, pulled along by a mother or father, sister or brother.

_Isn't it…_

Men, women, children, _running. _Running and running and running with nowhere to go. Their faces, their arms, their legs, covered with oozing, agonizing boils and blisters. Everyone screaming, wailing, sobbing amidst the pounding buzz of insect wings, the sickening crunch of frogs underfoot.

_Wonderful…_

_Beautiful? _

Cars swerving blindly down the narrow streets, windshield wipers swooping back and forth, back and forth, trying in vain to clear the pools of dead insects from the glass even as the tires crunch and spin over all the slimy wriggling frogs. They lose control, screeching with a CRASH into the sides of buildings, into _people_—

_Isn't it so…_

Fire and hail raining down from the sky—drops of lava, spheres of ice. Destroying buildings, pelting into the roofs of cars, raining death.

Death everywhere. Blood everywhere. Bodies lying face down in the streets, buried alive under wriggling amphibious bodies.

Burning.

_Isn't it so…_

_Isn't it?_

_Isn't it so…_

"Isn't it so _beautiful._" Sam breathed lovingly. His eyes shone with pleasure, with ecstasy, with _pride_. A dark shadow crept over the sun, over the brilliant, golden sun, casting the whole world in impenetrable darkness_._ Darkness as deep as his blackened eyes.

**SNSNSN**

Dean didn't move. He couldn't bring himself to stand.

Instead, he remained sitting on his bed, his head in his hands, overcome by the shrieks and wails of agony and horror that easily penetrated the thin walls of his hotel room. Castiel had left hours ago to try to stop the devastation, leaving Dean behind with one hollow promise—

"He won't hurt _you_."

Hours later, Dean remained motionless on his bed in the small hotel room, barely breathing. He had thrown the door wide open to the outside elements, revealing the plagues that were terrorizing humanity as he sat inside, safe.

Protected. Immune. And he damn well wanted to die.

He lost track of time as he sat there, waiting.

Then…

The world went dark.

Unnaturally dark.

The light from the sun was hidden from view in one simple second.

Dean looked up, his teeth gritted together in an inexpressible rage. He leapt to his feet, crossed the threshold of the door, and dashed madly outside. Nothing touched him—the plagues shifted as he moved, leaving him standing in a circular area of protection. "SAM!" he shrieked, his voice unnaturally contorted as he raised his face to the darkened sky. "SAM!"

**Please don't hate me! I promise it's not over yet, the world hasn't ended…one more seal still needs to be broken. See? There's some hope.**

**PLEASE leave me a REVIEW and let me know what you're thinking. Thanks so much! :)**


	10. The Dark

_Dean looked up, his teeth gritted together in an inexpressible rage. He leapt to his feet, crossed the threshold of the door, and dashed madly outside. Nothing touched him—the plagues shifted as he moved, leaving him standing in a circular area of protection. "SAM!" he shrieked, his voice unnaturally contorted as he raised his face to the darkened sky. __"SAM!"_

**The Dark**

The wind shifted and picked up, blowing ashes and the stench of death in Dean's direction. He clamped his mouth tightly shut in order to prevent the dry heaves that he felt rising up inside from overflowing. "SAM!" he bellowed again, louder, "SAM!"

"There's no need to shout."

Dean's entire body tensed at the words. He whirled about and peered through the smoky darkness towards the sound of the voice, trying to see by the eerie glow cast by the flaming piles of twisted rubble and scorched flesh. He took in a deep breath and coughed as the putrid reek penetrated his nostrils.

The voice laughed. "Taking time to stop and smell the roses?"

Dean struggled to regain his composure and then straightened up and snarled, careful to take shallow breaths. "Go to Hell." He spat bitterly. "You're not Sam."

"No. You weren't honestly expecting _Him_ to come see you, were you? He's quite busy. It's just me again…Beelzebub."

"Go. To. Hell." Dean wheezed. He coughed again, trying to clear his lungs. The smoke made his eyes water and burn.

"No, that won't be necessary." Beelzebub said playfully. "Sam's creating a Hell on Earth, after all. I don't see why you're so upset—word on the street is that you enjoyed yourself in Hell…you know, torturing all those lost souls—"

"SHUT UP!" Dean snarled, taking a menacing step toward the fallen angel. As he moved, the plagues shifted so as to leave an empty circle underfoot. He stepped forward again and something soft flattened under his boot.

Dean froze at the unexpected obtrusion. The darkness camouflaged everything together in one black mess of shadow underneath him, obscuring the fallen object from his view. He knelt down and blindly reached for it.

"I wouldn't…if I were you." Beelzebub said.

Dean's hand touched something soft. He recoiled automatically, but then his brain caught up with his actions and analyzed the object. Soft…furry. He reached down again and his hand grasped a fluffy stuffed toy. He breathed a sigh of relief and let go. As he moved to stand up, his hand swung slightly to the side—

His fingers curled around a small, cold hand.

He yelped and leapt to his feet, breathing hard against the darkness as his mind automatically painted the picture he couldn't see, of the little body lying curled up somewhere near his feet. He could still feel the touch of the icy little hand in his, and he balled his hands into fists at his sides, shaking.

"I warned you." The fallen angel said smugly.

"SAM!" Dean screeched again, ignoring him as he tried not to move his feet, "SAM! SAM!"

"Oh, for God's sake…" Beelzebub groaned. "Stop that infernal racket. It won't do any good."

"SAM!" Dean yelled again, "SAM!"

"_What_?" Sam said exasperatedly.

Dean stilled and swallowed the yell that had been about to pass his lips. He turned slowly, and his gaze rested on his brother. Any words he wanted to say died in his throat as he focused on him. A golden glow reverberated from Sam's features. It was an empty light, illuminating only Sam, leaving the rest of the world in darkness.

"What?" Sam said again, his glowing skin casting strange shadows behind him.

Dean stepped forward and grabbed Sam's arm. It was white hot under his touch, and he had to concentrate to keep his grip.

Beelzebub hissed from where he had knelt down on the pavement. "Master—"

"Shut-up." Sam snapped. "Don't you have better things to do?"

"Of course. A thousand apologies." Beelzebub murmured, his eyes downcast. He vanished.

Sam stared at Dean, and his expression softened. "What is it?" he asked.

Dean stared back, feeling Sam's arm underneath his fingers. Solid.

Sam sighed wearily but didn't try to shake out of Dean's grasp. "What do you want?" he asked. "You called me here, you must want _something._ Just say it."

Dean breathed in shakily. That voice…it was slightly annoyed and tired, with a twinge of amusement. God, it sounded so much like Sam. _So much_. Dean felt lightheaded, as though he wasn't getting enough air, and something twisted inside him, deep in his gut. Somehow, this…this _thing_…was still his little brother. He was still talking to him, still _protecting _him even as he blew the rest of the world to bloody bits—

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam asked again, interrupting his thoughts.

_What do I want? _Dean blinked and clamped his lips tightly together. What did he want? The answer passed through his lips before he had a chance to think. "You."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Me? I'm right here."

"Yes…no. No you're not. You're _not_. You _look _like Sam…you _sound _like him…but you're not…_him._"

"I'm right here, Dean. I'm Sam. You just don't like it because for the first time you're finally seeing all of me, not just the tip of the iceberg."

"Damnit Sam, don't talk to me about _icebergs_!" Dean snarled, tightening his grip on Sam's arm. A burning jolt seared up his arm, but he ignored it. "I'm not in the mood for any blasted metaphors or fancy figures of speech from you right now! You just went on a homicidal killing spree and released ancient biblical plagues on billions of innocent people—the people we're supposed to _protect_, damn it! You better start making lucid sense right _now_!"

Sam's lips twitched as though he was trying not to smile. "I know this is difficult for you, Dean. I'll try to explain." He said, and paused. "Have you ever heard of the Trinity? The Father, Son, and—"

"If this is another Bible lesson I swear I'm going to throttle you."

Sam laughed and held up his hand in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. No Bible lesson. But surely you don't want to do the research on this? I mean…I was always the one cooped up in the library. You were best at going in guns blazing, with a woman on each arm."

Dean shivered as Sam's words stirred memories inside of him that were too painful to dig back up. "Things change." He said hoarsely.

"Yes. I've changed." Sam said, "And so have you, though not quite as much."

Dean was silent for a moment, and then he finally spoke. "This Trinity thing…there's a reversed Trinity isn't there? Lucifer's the Father…and you…you…"

"You always were smarter than you gave yourself credit for." Sam said proudly. "I barely had to prompt you."

"You're the Son." Dean finished. "That means that you…"

"I've been around for a long, long time. Since practically the beginning."

"You're not Sam." Dean whispered.

"Yes I am. A part of me is."

Dean smelled something burning and looked down. His hand was smoking, and he hurriedly released Sam's arm with a soft gasp. His palm had been burned red and raw, and his face twisted into an involuntary wince as the pain finally registered.

Sam gaze crinkled, genuinely upset. "Dean, I…I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have touched me…" he paused, and his face fell further. "No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have let you." He said, sounding angry with himself. "I'm just…I feel so comfortable around you. Here, let me fix it." He reached out and grabbed Dean's unresisting hand. He ran his fingers over the raw skin, and the pain faded to a dull throb and was gone.

Dean jerked his hand back and flexed his fingers. The burn had disappeared completely. He gritted his teeth. "Damn it, Sam! Why _me_?!" he shouted angrily.

Sam looked genuinely surprised by the outburst. "What?"

Dean gestured toward the darkness, toward the sky, toward the death. "You did all this—you killed so many people—" he broke off. "Why not _me_? What did I do that they didn't?"

"Dean…" Sam said softly. "You're my _brother_. You're the only one that ever really cared for me."

"And I want you to _stop_ this!" Dean shouted angrily. "Stop this massacre! I don't want you to end the world! I—I don't—damn it, Sam! What you've become—this is exactly what we were always afraid of, ever since Dad whispered those damned words to me at the hospital! This is what you always begged me to protect you from!"

"Yes, but at that point I didn't remember who I was, I didn't know—"

"Exactly!" Dean shouted. "_My Sam_ didn't want this! _My Sam_ preferred death to this!"

"I am your Sam, Dean." He protested.

"The hell you are!" Dean shot back, his eyes blazing.

They stared at each other for a long time, silently.

Sam spoke first. "I'm not going to kill you, Dean."

"Why not? I want you to." Dean said bitterly, and laughed.

"Are you going to kill _me_?"

"I think I might have to, little brother."

Sam nodded calmly. "Do you think I would let you?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know either."

Silence.

"Your guns can't kill me." Sam said, "No human weapon can."

"Well then, I guess I'll have to find some un-human ones to waste you with." Dean said bitterly.

"I guess you will." Sam said. "But you won't go through with it. You never could."

"I never really had to. Not until now."

Sam nodded. He smiled tentatively. "You won't succeed, Dean." He said, "But…thanks. For trying to save me. I just don't need to be saved."

Dean shook his head. "Yes you do. I'll stop you." He said, closing his eyes tiredly. "I'll stop you." There was a swift breeze, the smell of ashes. Dean opened his eyes again.

Sam was gone.

Dean breathed out heavily. Without Sam's light the darkness closed in on him again, and he turned back toward his dimly lit hotel room. The door was still hanging open, and the warm room beckoned to him invitingly. He shuffled inside carefully and shut the door behind him with a soft click. For a moment he just stood there, thinking.

"Cas." He said softly. "I know you can hear me. I need you."

Silence.

Dean gritted his teeth, annoyed. "Castiel!"

The air shifted. Dean turned and saw the angel standing in the middle of the room. His shirt was ripped and scorched, his face was bloody. "Dean." He acknowledged. "You know, I don't live at your beck and call. I do have other more pressing responsibilities right now."

Dean walked up to him, concerned. "Are you alright?"

Castiel's open gaze locked on him, revealing his exhaustion. "I'm _fine_." He said, sounding annoyed. "The world is _ending _Dean."

"I know." Dean said, "I just talked to Sam."

The angel's eyes narrowed. "You did _what_?"

Dean waved a hand dismissively in the air. "I know, I know—I should have paged you or something."

"This is no time to be joking." Castiel said darkly.

"Believe me, I know that." Dean replied heavily, running a hand down his tired face. "Listen…you were right. I know what I have to do."

"And what is that?" Castiel asked suspiciously.

"I have to…kill…Sam." Dean said, choking out the traitorous words through clenched teeth. "It's the only way to stop him."

Castiel was silent. "You're sure that you can go through with it?" he asked softly.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. _Nononono— _"Yes." He said, blocking out the horrified voice screaming in the back of his mind. "And I know how to do it."

Castiel blinked, surprised. "You do?"

Dean opened his eyes and stared back at the angel. "Cas…is the Garden of Eden real?"

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the damn question." Dean snapped.

"Yes." The angel said simply. "Of course it is."

"And it still exists today?" Dean continued, "Hidden somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Can you take me there?"

Castiel took a step back and stared at Dean as though he had grown three heads. "_What_?"

"Can you take me there?" Dean repeated testily.

"Of course not!" Castiel snapped back. "You're _human_."

"Nicely spotted." Dean muttered sarcastically. "Why does that matter?"

"Humans were banned from The Garden after Adam and Eve sinned, Dean. Mankind is never to enter it again."

"Never?"

"Yes, _never_!"

"Why?"

"Because of sin! Did you ever_ read_ the Bible?"

"No…I never thought any of that stuff was real." He paused, and then gestured to Castiel. "Of course, then you showed up with your glass shattering voice and freaky shadow wings and shot that theory to hell."

"Yes. And I've been here for _nearly a year_, Dean."

"Uh…hello? We've been kind of busy trying to prevent the apocalypse! I don't have time to just sit around and _read _a couple thousand pages of thee's and thou's, thank you very much!"

Castiel threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. Let's pretend for just a moment that I _could _take you to the Garden of Eden. Why would you want to go there?"

"I need to get the sword."

Castiel's gaze hardened even further with disbelief. "The sword?"

"Yeah…you know…the flaming one."

"The flaming sword." Castiel said, a helpless smile forming on his face. "_The_ flaming…let me get this straight. You want _me_ to take _you_ to the Garden of Eden so that you can steal the _flaming sword_?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"From _Cherubim_?"

"Yes."

"Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"Probably." Dean muttered miserably.

Castiel shut his eyes and absentmindedly rubbed some of the dried blood off his brow. "You want this sword to kill Sam, don't you?"

"Human weapons won't work on him now. This is the only way."

"Yes, and we wouldn't have had this problem if you had just killed him before." Castiel snapped angrily. "You were the one that swore this would never happen."

Dean recoiled as though punched. "I…" he swallowed hard, "I never wanted to have to kill him, Cas." He whispered wretchedly, wringing his hands in front of him. "I never thought that this…that _Sam_…"

Castiel nodded, instantly regretting his harsh words. "I know." He said. "I'm sorry…I wanted you to be right about him." He fell silent, thinking.

Dean spoke up quietly. "This is our last chance, Cas. If I don't kill him now, the world will end."

Castiel shook his head. "Even _if _I took you to the Garden of Eden…how do you know that you would get the sword? The Cherubim won't just give it to you."

"I know." Dean said tiredly. "I'll…I'll fight for it."

Castiel laughed. "Fight for it? Fight Cherubim for a flaming sword?"

"Yes." Dean said quietly.

"With _what_, exactly?"

"I…I have no idea."

"You'll be killed." Castiel muttered. "Within _seconds_."

"Then at least I'll die trying."

The angel frowned. "Dean, you're _human. _I can't…"

"Yes you can, Cas. You have to take me there."

"But humans were banned from the garden." He murmured, his resolve weakening.

"The world is _ending._ I think it's time to go back." He paused, and then laid a hand on the angel's shoulder. "This is the only way."

Castiel frowned. "You're brave, I'll give you that." He said, finally. "Or very stupid."

"Does that mean you'll take me?" Dean said hopefully, flashing a small grin.

Castiel sighed. "Yes."

Dean nodded, but instead of feeling triumphant he felt a sinking pit open up in his stomach. "When?"

"Might as well do it now." The angel said. "Keep a firm grip on my arm. This is going to be a ride you'll never forget."

**PLEASE REVIEW!! :) Thanks! **


	11. Freefalling

**Hey everyone, thanks for sticking with me! So I tried something a little different in this chapter—at one point it seemed necessary to get inside Dean's head (scary, I know). So I tried it. That part is all in italics, and any "missing" punctuation is completely intentional because I was trying to imitate franticly jumbled thought (you'll see why). Unfortunately, I won't be able to update quite as often from now on due to papers and upcoming finals, blah. I don't want to rush my chapters and ruin them, so you'll just have to wait patiently, haha. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! :) **

"_Keep a firm grip on my arm. This is going to be a ride you'll never forget." _

**Freefalling **

Dean gritted his teeth and gripped Castiel's arm as tightly as he could. The angel looked at him once more, briefly, before his eyes shone as brilliant sapphires and he gazed _beyond _towards something that only he could see.

Dean took a deep breath, preparing himself, and faltered. "Wait. Before we, uh...Cas, what exac—"

The air imploded with white light, overwhelming the dirty motel room with billions of prisms all sparkling with the colors of the rainbow. Darkness folded into brilliance, scattering glittering glimpses of color and reordering them in a blinding path of light within the smallest fraction of a second. All of Dean's emotions, memories, and sensations fled instantly, leaving him blind and deaf as his human body shut down, unable to cope with the unhindered exhilaration and sheer terror forged together into one brief moment.

Reality slammed back with a vengeance. Light collapsed into darkness, order regressed into pain and despair.

Frigid wind swept through them both, chilling them to the bone and filling their nostrils with an overpowering stench of copper.

Dean coughed harshly, dragging the putrid air back into his oxygen starved lungs. Hacking coughs wracked his body, causing him to double over in pain.

Castiel waited patiently for a few moments, but after a minute had passed he spoke, "Did you forget how to breathe?" his voice was smooth, calm and composed.

Dean glared daggers at his companion through the darkness. He wasn't certain, but he detected a hint of amusement in the angel's voice. "Lousy time…" he coughed, "To get…a sense…of humor…"

"Excuse me?"

Dean straightened up, unsure of how to interpret the angel's innocent tone. "You…you said…oh come on, I know you just…never mind." He trailed off in defeat, peering into the darkness. It took him a few more seconds to realize that his feet weren't touching the ground. He stiffened. "We're still flying?"

"Yes."

Dean coughed again, nervously this time. "Uh…Cas…"

Castiel sighed. "What is it now?"

Dean chuckled weakly and unconsciously tightened his grip on the angel's arm. "Oh, nothing really, it's just that airplanes are…well, they're not my favorite thing. And this—what you're doing—is like flying without the actual _plane._"

"Dean, what I'm doing is much safer than a plane. I'm an _angel, _not some potentially unreliable piece of technology. I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, well, _probably_, but there's nothing separating us from the ground."

"In your planes all that separates you from the ground is a flimsy layer of lightweight metal."

Dean grimaced and then nodded his head fervently. "_Exactly_!" he exclaimed animatedly, "That's what I keep saying! Don't you think my…dislike…of flying is much more logical than the fear of clowns?"

Castiel paused. "What do clowns have to do with this?"

Dean froze. His train of thought slammed into a steel wall and smashed into a thousand broken fragments.

_At least I'm not afraid of flying.—Planes crash!—And apparently clowns kill. _

Dean's breath hitched in his throat and his face fell. _Sammy…_ He shook his head slowly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Apparently clowns kill." He breathed softly, repeating Sam's words.

"What did you say?" Castiel asked, confused.

"Nothing." Dean shook his head. "Just ignore me, I'm rambling."

"Dean..." the angel said firmly, peering at him through the blackness, "What is it?"

Dean swallowed hard, trying to push all thoughts and memories of his little brother to the farthest corner of his mind. It didn't work. "…well, I'd really like to be on the ground."

"You're a bad liar." Castiel said simply.

"Maybe to _you_." Dean replied, "But in the face of…" he coughed, "_Normal_ people, especially women, I'm a smooth talker. Lying comes naturally to me. It's one of my many natural talents."

"You were thinking about Sam, weren't you?" Castiel persisted, refusing to let Dean change the subject.

Dean winced at the sound of his brother's name. He turned away even though he was unable to see the angel in the dark, and his head spun miserably.

Castiel frowned at Dean's lack of response. "Dean, I'm sorry. He's your brother, and you shouldn't have to be the one to do this. It's not fair…I know that. I understand."

Dean scowled. "Right. Of course you do. You're an _angel_. You comfort and watch over everyone—except me. Hell, all you do is bring me updates on how my already demolished life is going to get worse. So you can stop trying to be my shrink, alright? I don't want to share my feelings and cry into your shoulder." Dean said sharply, anger creeping back into his voice.

Castiel's lips twisted up into a grin. Dean didn't see it.

Another minute passed in silence, filled only by the chattering of Dean's teeth and the howling wind.

"Can we _land_?" Dean finally exploded, "And why the hell is it so damn _cold_?"

"We're above a glacier." Castiel explained, "We could land here, but I don't think you would want me to."

"Why not?"

"Your brother turned all the water to blood." The angel said gently. "Remember?"

Dean's insides clenched again. "So the glacier is a frozen chunk of blood floating in an ocean of blood." he said bitterly.

"Yes."

"And the Garden of Eden is _inside_ the glacier?" he continued, hazarding a guess. He paused. "But I thought this Garden was supposed to be located somewhere near the…" he trailed off, thinking hard, "Tiger and…and something. I think it starts with an E." He said. "They're rivers." He added quickly.

Castiel chuckled softly. "You mean the Tigris and the Euphrates."

"That's what I said." Dean said crossly. "And while it's still too hellishly dark for me to see a damn thing, I'm sure it's too cold for us to be anywhere near there."

"Dean…humans have no idea where the actual Garden is. Do you really think that God would put it somewhere for people to find it?"

Dean frowned. "Well apparently there are some glaring context clues pointing to that location in that…that book of yours."

"The Bible."

"Yeah that. It doesn't mention any sacred glaciers."

Castiel smiled, amused. "Why does the location matter? Did you want Him to leave you a map with an X marking the spot?"

"No, I don't want a map." Dean said testily. "I honestly don't really care where the Garden is, okay? I'm just…feeling a little tense right now."

"The flying phobia? That's perfectly understandable."

"Don't you use that all-knowing, sympathetic tone with me!" he snapped angrily. "I'm…I'm _fine_, alright?" he paused for a moment. "But…we are _landing_, right? I mean, what are you waiting for?"

Castiel hesitated a moment. "You're not going to like this." He said. "So I apologize now for what I'm about to suggest."

Dean groaned. "What?"

"I can't go with you to the Garden of Eden. I'm needed in the world…to buy you time and try to prevent Sam from breaking the final seal. I'm afraid that this is something you have to do on your own."

"Thanks so much for the support." Dean muttered darkly.

Castiel winced. "That's not the worst part, I'm afraid."

"Oh, what now?"

"I'm going to have to drop you."

"_What?!_"

"I'm going to give you something…a feather from my right wing…it will allow you to pass directly through the ice and down to the Garden."

"Oh_ hell _no_!"_

"There's no other way for you to get there…short of digging through the ice—_blood—_and that would take approximately…" he paused, thinking. "One-thousand years."

"_One-thousand years_?!"

"Give or take a century."

"I really, _really_ hate you right now." Dean growled.

Castiel smiled apologetically, forgetting that Dean couldn't see it. "Dean…I have the utmost faith in you. You will get the sword."

"Says the angel who said the Cherubim would kill me within _seconds_." Dean shot back.

"You can do this." Castiel said firmly. "Never doubt yourself."

Dean laughed bitterly. "Oh really? Cause it seems I've been screwing up a lot lately. I mean, look at what happened to _Sam_. Damn it Cas, he's my little brother. I should have...I..." he said dismally, looking down into the blackness. "I have plenty of reason to doubt myself, Cas."

"You have always been too hard on yourself." Castiel said. He was still for a moment before he added, quietly, "Sam never doubted you."

Dean tensed. His lips tightened as though he was about to come up with an angry retort, but he sighed instead. "I know." He breathed sadly. A few seconds trickled by and he felt Castiel slide a silky soft feather into his right hand. His fingers curled tightly around it.

"Don't lose that." Castiel warned.

Dean smirked. "Free souvenirs, huh? Am I ever going to actually get to see your wings?"

"I'm not making any promises." Castiel laughed. He paused. "Are you ready?"

"No, not really."

"Too bad." Castiel said. "Good luck."

He let go.

SNSNSN

Within the first few seconds of falling, Dean realized firsthand that his fear of flying was justified—_completely _justified.

He clamped his lips together to keep from screaming as his heart ran a marathon and his stomach did flips and practiced the tango simultaneously. The frigid air whooshed past him, freezing his face and attacking any unprotected patch of skin on his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to try to think about something—_anything_—besides the fall.

_I'm going to die. I'm going to die, I'm going to—_

_NO _

_No. No. Can't think about that. Don't. Think anything else—cars. Classic cars. Working on cars, washing cars…watching hot chicks wash cars…soap and water, water and suds, _

_I'm NOT going to die. I can't die. If I die then Sam will—_

_Shit shit shit! Other thoughts, any other—dogs. Dogs? Dogs. If I could have a dog, what kind would it be? Kick-ass. A kick-ass mutt that would terrorize the entire neighborhood. If I lived in a neighborhood. Of course I would, in a house. A house? Someday I'll have a house. A nice one. Or,_

_Sammy…_

_What if I don't get the sword? I won't get it. What angel would give me that sword? This is insane, I can't do this—_

_NO. Have to do this. Have to…Sam…_

_Oh God where's the ground? Where's the damn ground?? I can't…breathe…_

_I can't—_

_So cold it's so cold it's so damn cold _

_Sam._

_Dad said…he said I might have to kill you, Sammy. I wish to God he'd never opened his mouth! Am I supposed to go darkside or something? What else did_

_Darkside, oh god oh god oh god no no no_

_Sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm_

_Normal. I'd have been normal. So would you. Darkside. Normal._

_HELL I've been in HELL Sammy I've been there. HELL. I know everything and you can't know. Never. No one can ever know. No one can help me. _

_Darkside._

_SAM_

_I can't do this, I can't, not me, find someone else, I want to go home. HOME. I want to have a home. I want a home and a dog and my car and Sam and I want to be normal._

_Sammy—_

SNSNSN

Dean jerked awake with a choking gasp.

His green eyes fluttered open and instantly squeezed tightly shut again to block out the blinding sunlight that penetrated through his lids with a red glare. Reminding himself to take slow, even breaths, he managed to stop gasping and breathe normally. In and out, in and out.

As his mind gradually became more aware he realized that he was lying on something soft. His tense muscles relaxed automatically and he exhaled softly, grateful to be back on solid ground. He opened his eyes and squinted through the brightness.

He gasped again and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Oh…my…god…" he rasped, unable to believe what he was seeing.

A brilliant, golden sun hovered high in a horizon of royal blue, illuminating everything it touched with a glow of unsurpassed warmth. The light illuminated the landscape around him with perfect clarity. Green grass, still wet with morning dew, carpeted the rolling hills and outlined ponds of crystal clear water that rippled in the warm breeze. Bushes were scattered thickly over the grass, enriching the world with splashes of color that ranged from lavender to gold and crimson to white. Majestic trees towered above, their strong, thick boughs reaching toward the sun as they bore fruits that were ripe and bursting with sweet and sticky juices.

Dean drew a long, satisfied breath of air into his lungs. The air smelled sweet and fresh. Birds chirped and twitted in the blue sky, gliding along with their wings outstretched.

"Impossible." Dean muttered, awestruck. He pulled his legs underneath him and stood up slowly, still shaky from the long fall.

A soft noise alerted him to the fact that something was creeping up behind him. Before he could turn, something large nuzzled up against his leg. Dean let out a cry of alarm and spun around--face to face with an enormous lion.

The beast stood with its open mouth inches away from Dean's bare arm, its warm golden eyes framed by a long, beautiful mane of fur.

Dean clamped his lips tight in order to stop himself from crying out, for fear that any noise might provoke the creature to attack. He realized with an unpleasant jolt that he didn't have any weapons, and his eyes frantically darted back and forth as he analyzed his chances for escape. It wasn't possible. If he ran, the lion would chase him down and kill him. If he didn't move, the beast would pounce on him and then eat him. Dean stood perfectly still, swearing a string of silent profanities in his mind.

The lion made a noise in the back of its throat and moved closer.

Dean clamped his eyes shut and waited, tense. _So this is how it ends…_

A wet, sandpapery tongue tickled up and down Dean's hand.

He opened his eyes, shocked, just as the lion used its powerful mass to push him over. It towered over him as he lied helplessly on the grass, and then, before he could move, it pinned him down with two paws and began joyfully licking his face with its huge, wet tongue.

"Yugh." Dean gasped, equally disgusted as he was surprised. He kept his lips firmly clamped together for a few seconds, and as the licking persisted he reached up with his arms to try to push it away. "Stop!" He muttered, unsuccessfully trying to get it to get off his chest.

The lion gave him one last sandpapery lick before it stepped back, releasing Dean. It sat down on the grass a foot away from him and began licking its own fur with meticulous concentration.

Dean sat up slowly, wiping vigorously at his face with his hands to try to get some of the slobber off. "What the hell??" he muttered, staring at it in wonder.

The lion cocked its head at his words and stopped licking to watch him.

Dean stood up again, slowly, his eyes locked onto the natural predator. It didn't move. He shook his head, cast one last disbelieving look at the lion, and then began walking in a random direction.

Something warm nudged his back. He turned and saw the lion standing right behind him, its eyes gleaming eagerly. "You can't come with me." Dean said firmly. "I have to things to do, creatures to see, a flaming sword to find, and an apocalypse to prevent. It's just one, big, funfilled day of adventure." he said bitterly, "And, since you don't seem want to do me a favor by killing me, you can go live it up with the lionesses, or whatever the hell it is you do." He turned away. He managed to take a few steps before the lion nudged up against his legs again.

"_What_?" Dean said, exasperated. "You can't…" he trailed off. "Are you…purring?!"

The lion lied down on the grass and rolled over, exposing its cream colored belly for Dean to stroke.

Dean stared. "I can't deal with this right now. The world is _ending._"

The lion whimpered.

Dean sighed. "Okay, okay." He said. "You're pushier than my brother, you know that?" He knelt down and ran one hand over the lion's belly, feeling the soft fur on his skin. He straightened back up. "You happy?" he turned and began walking.

The lion whimpered again.

Dean turned around and saw it standing a foot behind him, its head drooping. "Oh what the hell, I'm probably going to die anyway." He said. "You can come if you want." Its eyes instantly perked up and it walked closer.

Dean turned around and continued on, shaking his head. "But I'm not keeping you, alright? The second I get this sword, you go right back to hassling the other lions, you hear me?"

The lion walked beside him, its heavy paws making soft squishing noises in the wet grass.

"Of course you don't understand, you're a lion. Damn, I'm losing my mind." Dean muttered, shaking his head. The scent of cloves and lavender filled his nostrils as another warm gust of air blew gently past him. He breathed out slowly, reveling in the peaceful moment.

After a few more steps his thoughts were interrupted as the lion nudged him, more urgently this time. "What is it?" he asked, looking down. The lion nudged him again and looked away, behind them.

Dean's inner peace departed instantly, replaced by a cold dread. He turned around, very slowly, fearful of what he would see.

A figure was standing no more than ten meters away from him. It stood about six feet high, and four majestic wings protruded from its pale back. Two wings stretched up toward the sky while the other two draped softly down over its body, concealing every other feature from view except its head. At first glance Dean saw that it had a man's face, but then the creature turned its head slowly from one side to the other, revealing three more faces: the face of a lion, the face of an ox, and the face of an eagle. As he stared blankly at it, the Cherub slowly raised its right arm out from behind its wing—revealing a sword clenched tightly in its hand.

The sword glinted brilliantly in the sunlight. It was forged of a gleaming metal that Dean had never seen before, and the entire blade blazed with white, blue, orange, and red flames.

Dean swallowed hard, terrified. All rational thoughts left him as he stared at the angelic being before him, at the powerful flaming sword in its hand.

**PLEASE REVIEW!! :) Thanks so much! **


	12. The Lion, the Cherub, and the Sword

**Hey! I should really be working on my paper right now but this story won't leave me alone, so here's a nice long chapter for you instead! As always, thanks so much for the reviews for the last chapter. Sam is back toward the end of this chapter, and Dean gets beaten up really badly in the first part, so be prepared. :)**

_The sword glinted brilliantly in the sunlight. It was forged of a gleaming metal that Dean had never seen before, and the entire blade blazed with white, blue, orange, and red flames. _

_Dean swallowed hard, terrified. All thoughts left him, and he forgot how to breathe as he stared at the angelic being before him, at the powerful flaming sword in its hand. _

**The Lion, the Cherub, and the Sword**

"YOU."

The cherub's voice hammered through him with tones that echoed within his mind and rattled his bones. Its voice had no particular pitch and yet contained all possible pitches, it was barely a whisper and still rose above a bloodcurdling shriek, it reverberated from everywhere all at once and echoed in Dean's mind. He trembled.

"I KNOW WHY YOU HAVE COME, DEAN WINCHESTER."

Dean's daily experience with life-and-death supernatural creatures fell flat in the face of this ancient, heavenly being. He blinked hard, fighting to stay conscious as his vision clouded with yellow dots that darkly blurred his vision. Every sound of the forgotten paradise faded to a dull, rhythmic pounding inside his head. His hands, balled into fists, shook wildly at his sides.

The cherub turned its head to the side, entrapping Dean within a myriad of dispassionate stares from all four of its equally fierce faces. "YOU HAVE COME TO TAKE WHAT HAS NEVER BEEN YOURS."

Unable to remember how to breathe, Dean felt his legs give out underneath him. He fell to his knees on the wet grass.

"I SEE NO REASON TO GIVE YOU ANYTHING."

Dean shivered violently, unable to look away.

The cherub's many faces gazed past him with eerily empty expressions, and it moved the flaming sword up until the point was inches away from Dean's forehead. He could _feel _the searing heat rising from the sharpened blade. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape the agonizing pain that was slowly burning a hole through his skull—

The heat disappeared as quickly as it had come. Dean opened his eyes again and saw that the cherub had cloaked the sword under its wing once more.

"GO HOME."

The winged creature turned, slowly, and began walking away.

Dean's eyes widened as he stared at the back of the retreating cherub. Everything inside him screamed that he was allowing his last chance to slip away like water between his fingers. "…no…" he breathed, frantically trying to stand. His shaky limbs betrayed him, and all he managed to do was fall flat on his face.

The cherub didn't pause, and continued its slow retreat.

"No." Dean said again, louder. He scrunched one leg underneath him and tried to propel himself forward, but his limbs still wouldn't cooperate and he stumbled helplessly. "Wait—" He dug his hands into the dirt in the attempt to drag himself towards the angelic creature. "Don't go—please—" he gasped. He heard the lion whimper softly behind him, but he ignored it, and continued his seemingly futile attempt to close the widening gap.

The cherub stopped abruptly, only meters away, and began fading into the background—

"NOO!" Dean shrieked, his voice twisted with despair. His mind raced, his heart pounded furiously in his chest, and—

He stumbled to his feet—closed the gap between them with a few short strides—

And leapt right onto the cherub's back.

Without even tensing, the cherub extended one of its wings, violently throwing Dean off. He was propelled through the air and slammed heavily into the trunk of a nearby tree. The collision sent chunks of bark flying in every direction.

Dean didn't even flinch as patches of skin on his arms were scraped off upon impact like cheese on a cheese-grater. He gritted his teeth and stood back up, facing the heavenly creature with dark blood dripping down off his clenched fists. "I want the sword."

"NO."

Dean let out a cry of blind rage and flung his body back at the creature. The cherub reached out almost lazily with one hand, grabbed Dean's right arm, and twisted.

There was a loud crack.

Dean screamed in agony as white hot pain shot up his arm.

The angel, still holding the broken limb, kept a firm grip on it and used it to sling him roughly back against the tree. Dean hit the tree face-first and slid down the trunk to the forest floor. He shrieked again as his broken arm was squeezed mercilessly between his bruised torso and the hard ground.

"GO HOME."

The cherub's dismissive words jerked Dean out of his pain filled haze. Panting heavily, he managed to push himself up in time to see the angel turning to leave again. "Nooo!!" he yelled angrily, blood pouring from his broken nose. He leapt back to his feet, ignoring way his arm hung grotesquely at his side with white bone protruding from the skin. He leapt at the angel again and clung to its feathered wing with his one good arm. "Give it to me!"

Wordlessly, the Cherub flicked its wing, tossing Dean high into the air. He landed with a sickening thud and gasped for breath, his broken body twisted on the grass like a rag doll. "YOU WILL NEVER GET THIS SWORD. GO HOME NOW."

Dean's vision became spotted again, and he breathed heavily through the agonizing pain as he struggled not to pass out. He struggled to sit up and spat out a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. He coughed, and instantly pain shot through his chest from multiple broken ribs. Tears of anguish trickled out the corners of his eyes as the pain nearly overwhelmed him. "Not…" he gasped, fighting to breathe, "Leavin…"

"JUST GO HOME."

"Stop…" he choked. "Sayin…that…" he tried to stand, but one ankle was twisted horribly to the side and he collapsed back onto the ground.

"GIVE UP."

"_No_." he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. He began to crawl toward the cherub, using one hand to drag his broken body across the gap. It was horribly slow—too slow.

But the angel didn't move. It stood its ground, watching him.

After what seemed like forever, Dean reached the cherub's feet. He reached up and grasped the feathered tips of one wing. "Not…leaving…gotta…Sam…" he gasped, his logical reasoning scrambled behind the throbbing cloud of pain. He tightened his grip on the heavenly creature's wing and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the moment when he would be thrown away again.

It never came.

"YOU HAVE PROVED YOURSELF WORTHY."

Dean's eyes snapped open. He stared up at the angel, stunned. "What?" he whispered.

"STAND."

Dean faltered. "I…I _can't_."

"STAND."

Dean breathed out shakily, readying himself for the excruciating pain that he knew would come with movement. He pushed up slowly with his left arm, waiting for the next throbs of agony to begin.

They never came. His eyes widened as he was met with a complete absence of pain. His gaze shifted to his arm, and he found it straight and unmarred. He raised a hand to his face in disbelief, and gazed in wonder as his fingers came away without a single drop of blood. "You—"

"STAND."

Dean took a deep, effortless breath of fresh air back into his starved lungs and, very slowly, proceeded to gather his shaking limbs underneath him. He stood up, straight and tall, almost eye to eye with the cherub's piercing gaze.

"NOW, DEAN WINCHESTER. NOW I CAN GIVE YOU WHAT YOU SEEK."

Dean watched in astonishment as the cherub reached beneath its white, feathered wing and unsheathed the sword with a ziiing of metal on metal. The weapon blazed with unmatched power.

The cherub wordlessly shifted its grip so that it was grasping the flaming blade, and held the handle out toward Dean.

Dean reached out, slowly, and took it. The handle was ice cold under his touch, and shot a tingling wave of pure power through his fingertips and up his arm. He gasped at the sensation and tightened his grip on the weapon, watching with a mesmerized awe as the flames leapt from the gleaming metal blade.

Dean looked back at the cherub, which was still staring levelly at him with its eagle eyed gaze. "What…" he stopped, and licked his lips. "What do I do now?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO."

Dean shook his head. "No. No I don't." he paused. "Well, I…I _do._ I have to kill Sam."

"YES."

"No!" Dean broke out shakily. "No! You don't understand—I 'm wrong for that! You should do it, _anyone_ _else _but me. I…I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through with it."

"IT IS FOR THAT REASON THAT YOU ARE THE ONE THAT WILL."

Dean scowled. "Could you stop speaking in riddles?"

"IT IS NOT A RIDDLE. IT IS TRUTH."

"Yeah, well, they sound the same to me." Dean said bitterly. He looked away and gazed at the trees, at the colorful flowers, at the rippling ponds. "Where do I go?"

"HOME."

Dean laughed cynically. "I don't _have _a home."

"YOUR HOME HAS ALWAYS BEEN WHEREVER SAM IS."

Dean swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had risen in his throat.

"GO FIND YOUR BROTHER."

"I don't know _how_—"

"GO NOW."

Dean shook his head. "Wait. There's so much I need to ask you—"

The Cherub flung out one hand toward Dean.

Dean fell away from the ground, falling _up, _back towards reality, back towards the apocalypse, and back towards Sam.

The wind rushed down upon him as he gazed, unable to close his wind-swept eyes, upon paradise for one final time. The towering trees quickly became dots upon a green canvas, and the sunshine was snuffed out.

Darkness returned, pierced only by the flaming sword in Dean's tight grip. The air grew frigidly cold, and then—

He was back.

Back in the run down hotel room with the old, yellowing wallpaper, back to the cracked windows and soiled sheets. The air smelled of smoke and blood.

Dean winced bitterly. "Home sweet home."

Something nuzzled against his back.

Dean whirled around—and his mouth dropped open in shock. "_You_!"

The lion stared back with its expressive golden eyes. It tilted its head, shifting its shaggy mane as it studied him with an expression that was as near to a smirk as an animal can portray.

"How did—how did you—_why_—" he trailed off dumbfounded.

The lion nuzzled up against him again, and then turned and leapt onto the bed. The springs creaked underneath its massive weight. It lied down, placed its head on its paws, and resumed staring at Dean, as though it had shifted position in order to see him more clearly.

Dean groaned. "I said _no_!" he exclaimed, but the annoyance in his voice was unable to completely mask what was, but would never under any circumstances be admitted as, pleasure. "I never agreed to adopt you! The world is _ending_ out here, this is no time to get attached to people!"

The lion stared back at him impassively, as though nothing, not even all the rare steaks in the world, was going to be enough to persuade it to leave.

"Fine, stay if you want." Dean said. "But don't say I didn't warn you." He turned away and held it up the flaming sword in his hand so that he could examine it more closely. Now that he was holding it, he couldn't feel any heat rising from the dancing flames. Experimentally, he raked one finger through the fire and laughed in disbelief as he wasn't burned. Emboldened, he grasped the blade with one hand, watching the flames lick harmlessly at his skin with nothing worse than a soft tickling sensation. He turned back to the lion. "How much do think this beauty would get me on E-Bay?"

The lion growled.

"Joking!" Dean exclaimed quickly, "I was only joking."

Castiel appeared. "Dean." He said.

Dean jumped in surprise and spun around. He scowled. "Damn it, Cas!" he said, his heart pounding as he lowered the sword from the defensive position he had taken, "Stop with the secret entrances already! Would it kill you to use a door?"

The angel's eyes drifted momentarily to the enormous lion that was resting on the bed, but he didn't comment. Instead he said, "Sam is about to break the last seal. I can't stop him."

Dean's blood ran cold. His mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton and he licked his lips in a vain attempt to get some moisture back. "W-what…"

"He's about to release the Four Horsemen." Castiel said, raising a hand to wipe away some of the blood that was trickling down his face into his eyes.

"Horsemen?" Dean muttered. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"Of the _Apocalypse_, Dean." Castiel said darkly. "Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death."

"Oh." Dean said. "Hell."

"Yeah, Dean. _Hell_. If he succeeds in this, it will be Hell on Earth."

"I have to…stop him." Dean said, unsure of whether it was a statement or a question.

"Yes." Castiel said, his eyes raking over the flaming sword in Dean's hand. "And you need to hurry."

"Cas…what if I can't—"

"Don't second guess yourself _now_!" Castiel said harshly. "There's no time. I know it sucks, but you're the only one that can kill Sam."

Dean breathed in shakily, and then paused as the angel's words sunk in. "Cas…" he said, a hopeless smile forming on his face, "You just swore."

Castiel blinked and then shook his head. "Proof that I've been hanging around you for too long."

"Too _damn_ long." Dean corrected.

"What?"

"Too damn long. Instead of—"

"Don't push it." Castiel interrupted. "And don't change the subject."

Dean sighed wearily, looking down at the blazing sword in his hand. He glanced at the lion, who was staring at him intensely. "Stay here." He said firmly. "I mean it. No tricks this time." He looked back at Castiel. "Let's go."

"You're ready?" Castiel asked.

"No." Dean said. "But I never will be. And we're out of time." He raised his head to look at the angel. "Where's Sam?"

**SNSNSN**

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_Not with a bang but a whimper_

_-T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"_

Dean and Castiel appeared in an open field at the edge of the woods, mere meters from where Sam and his many followers had congregated. Dean strode forward, away from Castiel, his eyes fixed on his brother as he recklessly entered the dangerous swarm of demonic beings.

The crowd instantly silenced and turned toward him. The sea of demons parted wordlessly, leaving him an open path to his brother. Beelzebub smirked and nodded at Dean as he passed. One demon, however, reached out and roughly grasped Dean's arm and yanked him back. Dean found himself staring into a pair of deep, black eyes. "Where the _Hell_ do you think _you're _going, hmmm? You bold son of a—"

The demon disintegrated into a pile of ash at Dean's feet.

Dean let his arm fall back against his side and looked up, knowing who he would see.

"Dean." Sam said warmly, stepping forward out of the throng on his followers. "It's good to see you." He paused, and glanced at the pile of ash. "Dude, I'm sorry about that. I did warn them not to touch you."

Dean didn't reply. He stared into his brother's cold, black eyes, and a shiver traveled up his spine. Ruby stepped up behind Sam, staring fixatedly at Dean. Sam reached out and pulled her tightly against his body. "Ruby, sweetheart," he whispered into her ear, "Where are your manners? Say hello to my big brother."

"Hi Dean." She muttered, her eyes focused on the ground.

Sam smiled and kissed her roughly on the mouth before pushing her away. His eyes focused on Dean again, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Eh, don't look at me like that, bro. She _is _a lying, backstabbing bitch, but hey—she's a beast in bed. That's the whole point, right?"

Dean held his breath to stop the bile that rose up in his throat. He held the sword firmly in his hand. The flames twisted up, licking toward the sky as they gave off a fiery radiance. The only other light in the entire field was produced by Sam, whose body was still glowing with a brilliant golden light. The two brothers faced each other in the light, one symbolizing hope and life, the other death.

Sam's gaze drifted down to rest on Dean's sword. "I see you brought the sword."

"Yes." Dean said stiffly.

Sam grinned. "Good. I knew you could get it." He said, "Now give it to me and I'll be able to raise the Four Horsemen and finally finish this." He said, and held his hand out.

Dean's head spun miserably. "I didn't get the sword for you."

Sam's smile widened. "Of course you did, Dean. Why else would you be here?"

Dean swallowed hard. "To kill you."

Ruby's eyes widened, glinting strangely in the light of the sword.

Sam stared at him for a long moment, studying his brother's face. At long last, he smiled. "C'mon, cut the crap, Dean. You and I both know that's the one thing you can't do."

"I'm serious, Sam." Dean said. His hand trembled at his side as he held the sword.

Sam exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. "Serious? You're _serious_?!" he laughed, his voice rising to a volume that Dean had never heard before. He stepped forward until he was inches away from Dean, and then lowered his voice to a hiss. "Is that what you think? Is that what you keep telling yourself? That you're _serious_? That you can really bring yourself to kill me?"

"I have to kill you…to save you…" Dean muttered hoarsely.

Sam chuckled and lowered his voice. "Where the hell did you get that idiotic idea?"

"From _you_." Dean said. "Remember?"

"We've been through this, Dean." Sam said darkly. "I asked you to do that when I didn't know all the facts. And now? Now I know _everything_. Now I'm _telling_ you to give me the damn sword."

"No, Sammy." Dean said. "I can't do that."

Sam's smile widened. "Then kill me."

Dean froze. "What?"

"Kill me. Do it _now_." Sam said, stepping forward again until he was mere inches away from the blade. Dean blinked, startled by the flashback that burst through his mind:

_Alright, time for bed. Come on Sasquatch, come on.  
__I need you to watch out for me.  
__Yeah, well, I always do.  
__No no no, you have to watch out for me, alright? And if I ever turn into something that I'm not, you have to kill me.  
__Sam…  
__Dean, Dad told you to do it, you have to.  
__Well Dad's an ass, he never should have said anything. You don't lay that kind of crap on your kids!  
__No, he was right to say it, who knows what I might become? Even now, everyone around me dies!  
__Yeah, well, I'm not dying, okay? And neither are you. Come on, Sam.  
__No, please! Dean, you're the only who can do it. Promise.  
__Don't ask that of me.  
__Dean, please! You have to promise me.  
_…_I promise._

"I promised." Dean whispered.

"What?"

"You're not Sam anymore." Dean said softly. "Sam would never do this."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, right. Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude." he paused, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Wait." He said, putting out his hand as though to stop Dean from making a move.

Dean glanced up at his brother, trying to keep the hope out of his eyes.

Sam smirked. "Don't give me that look." He said, "I haven't had a life changing epiphany or anything. Just a thought."

Dean gritted his teeth in frustration. "I bet it sucks." He said bitterly.

Sam laughed. "Right, cause all my ideas sucked." He shot back, "I seem to remember saving your life quite a few times."

"Yeah, when you weren't running off on me." Dean returned angrily.

Sam's eyes blazed. "Would you stop using that damn guilt card against me? I only left because I was freaked out and needed to figure out what was happening to me—" he froze, and slammed his lips shut.

Dean stared back at him intensely. "Yeah, Sam. You did. You needed to figure it out, because you were _scared_. Because you didn't want to become _this_." He said desperately, gesturing wildly around them.

"No." Sam said dismissively. "No, that's not what I meant to say. It slipped out…that isn't what _I _think. _This_ is who I really am, what I have always been."

As Dean stared at his brother, the hope that he had been clinging to smashed into a thousand pieces. God, for a moment, for _one_ _blissful_ _moment_, he had felt like he was really talking to Sam—arguing, even—and then it was gone, ripped away from him. He swallowed hard, feeling the horrible weight of the sword once more. "Then why did you just say that?"

Sam laughed. "Do you really need to ask, man? I'm still _Sam_, and you know that. I may be the Antichrist, but for a few…interesting…" he smirked, "…decades, I was just Sam. Just your brother, with no memory of what I really was or what I was becoming."

Dean's mouth went dry as he realized what that meant. "Y-you didn't know?"

"My memory was _wiped_, Dean. That's the only way I could be born safely…if the angels had known what I was destined to be they'd have killed me while I was a helpless little kid."

Dean's mind spun. "So…so you…you weren't acting?"

"No." Sam said, and then his eyes widened. "Hang on—do you mean to say that you thought I was _acting_ the whole time?"

Dean swallowed hard. "You weren't?" he breathed.

"Of course not!" Sam said. "I didn't know anything about all this! And I certainly wasn't pretending to be your little brother, Dean. Everything I ever did, until after I killed Lilith, was real."

Dean felt horribly sick. "Oh god…"

Sam shook his head, studying his brother's face in the flickering light. His eyes lightened. "I'm still your Sam." he said gently, reaching out to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I haven't gone anywhere. C'mon, Dean...just put the sword down. You don't really want to kill me."

Dean tried to smile. "Someone's gotta stop the world from ending, Sammy."

Sam gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze before he let his hand drop back to his side. "I'm willing to bet my life that you won't really do it."

"Really?" Dean muttered darkly.

"Yes." Sam said, "I still have that idea, remember? The one that _sucks_."

Dean tried to smile. He couldn't. "Yeah...I remember."

"You won't kill me—I know that." Sam said, "But you're my brother, so I'm going to let you try. We're just gonna play it by my rules."

**PLEASE REVIEW!! :) Thanks!**


	13. Too Bad, So Sad

**I'm so so so extremely sorry that it's taken me forever to get this posted. It's been so long that I really don't have any excuses, so I'm not going to bore you with any. Please enjoy, and again, Sorry!! **

**Then:**

_Sam shook his head, studying his brother's face in the flickering light. His eyes lightened. "I'm still your Sam." he said gently, reaching out to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I haven't gone anywhere. C'mon, Dean...just put the sword down. You don't really want to kill me."_

_Dean tried to smile. "Someone's gotta stop the world from ending, Sammy."_

_Sam gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze before he let his hand drop back to his side. "I'm willing to bet my life that you won't really do it."_

"_Really?" Dean muttered darkly._

"_Yes." Sam said, "I still have that idea, remember? The one that _sucks_."_

_Dean tried to smile. He couldn't. "Yeah...I remember."_

"_You won't kill me—I know that." Sam said, "But you're my brother, so I'm going to let you try. We're just gonna play it by my rules."_

**Now: **

"Rules?" Dean muttered dryly. His eyes darted to all sides, watchfully taking note of the thousands of demons staring down at him, teeth bared in poorly disguised loathing. "I hate to break it to you Sam, but I don't think I have much of a chance against you and your…posse."

Sam laughed softly and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. "My _posse? _Really?"

"Not your posse, then?" Dean muttered, "Fine then, how 'bout the Geek Squad? That's got a nice ring to it."

Sam's lips curved upwards. "Dean, the demons have nothing to do with this, they're only here to watch. This is between you and me."

"You and me?" Dean shook his head and laughed bitterly. "Cut the crap, bro. This is about _them._ We're just the poor suckers that got dragged along for the ride."

"Them?"

"Yep." Dean muttered. "_Them_. Our good friends the angels—who are, not at all surprisingly, _nowhere_ to be found right now—and alllllll the demons just waiting around for you to feed them a piece of my tenderized ass."

Sam glanced around—noticed the demons practically salivating in anticipation of just that—and his expression darkened. "Dean…I'm not planning on feeding your ass to anyone, _okay_?" he said, a twinge sharper than he needed to. The demons averted their eyes.

"Oh goodie." Dean muttered. "Real comforting, thanks."

Sam frowned. "Listen, I don't expect you to understand what I'm doing—"

Dean slammed his hands together in front of him with a loud smack and grinned. "No, no, I get it." He said, "It's so _embarrassingly_ obvious…guess I'm finally losing my edge…" he trailed off, smirking at Sam's baffled expression for a moment before finishing with: "You're _taller_ now."

Sam blinked, bewildered. His eyes narrowed as though testing the waters for some sort of trick. "What?"

"You're taller." Dean repeated slowly. "How particularly…_evil _of you."

Sam stared at him for a moment, at a loss for what to say and wondering if Dean had finally snapped. He finally shook his head and muttered: "Maybe you're just…shorter?"

Dean groaned and took another step back. "Ahh, come on Sam! You never get my movie references!" he shook his head in mock disappointment, trying to swallow back the sour taste in his mouth, "You remember. Spiderman 3, when Spidey went all evil. Every time he did something out of character, what happened?"

"I don't think that's relevant, Dean—"

"Just shut the hell up and humor me."

"I…I honestly don't remember."

"His hair was dramatically brushed down into his eyes. Observe." Dean reached forward toward Sam.

Every demon in the clearing lurched forward menacingly in the near absence of light. Dean's hand halted mid-approach. "What? Are they gonna decapitate me or something?"

"What are you doing, Dean?" Sam asked tensely.

"Fixing your hair."

"I don't—"

Dean's hand closed the gap and brushed Sam's hair down even further over his eyes so that he could barely see anything. "Yeah, like that."

"_What_ was like that?" Sam asked, annoyance creeping into his voice as he brushed the loose strands back out of his eyes.

"Spidey's hair. When he was _evil. _Ringing any bells in that hollow skull of yours, geek boy?"

Sam's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Yeah, okay, I remember…vaguely. Your point?"

"His hair was ridiculous. Your slouch is gone."

Sam released the air in his lungs with a snort. "Dude…really?"

"Your slouch." Dean continued seriously. "You know, like this." He rounded his shoulders forward dramatically and shuffled forward a few steps before looking back up to meet Sam's testy gaze. "Look familiar? Obviously the fact that your slouch has mutated into a straight, tall line means that you've…" he paused, and then made dramatic quotes in the air, "Gone dark-side. Just like when Spidey's hair was all…_emo_ and he was off terrorizing the town."

Sam shook his head. His eyes rolled up to the sky for a moment and then back to his brother. "This is gonna be some kind of metaphor, isn't it?"

"Well, it's certainly not a synonym."

Sam's eyebrows shot up.

"Homonym?" Dean said. "Antonym? Other things that end in 'ym?'"

"And now you're just rambling." Sam said. "But, since we're on the topic, since when did you even _like _that movie? I seem to remember you saying that all they do is stare tearfully at each other for minutes at a time—"

"Don't change the subject." Dean snapped back.

Sam's eyebrows rose incredulously. "There was a _subject_?"

"Ye-s-s." Dean said slowly, taking his turn to roll his eyes. "If Spidey and his ridiculously emo hair could be saved from _his_ big bad destiny, so can you. I'm going to get your slouch back."

"And there it is." Sam sighed. "I appreciate the metaphor, Dean, and your un-subtle attempt to distract me, but if I remember correctly it was his _suit _that was making him 'evil' and I'm not—"

"It's just a _metaphor_, Sam." Dean snapped. His eyes hardened as he gripped Sam's arm tightly, careful to only come in contact with Sam's black cotton shirt rather than his burning skin. The stench of smoke was strong enough without adding the sharp aroma of burning flesh to the mix. "And I'm not even claiming that it's a particularly good one."

"Dean…"

"Shut up, I'm talking." Dean said, his voice quieter and somehow more menacing, "I'm _going_ to save you Sam. One way or another, no matter what your picky little _rules _are, I'm NOT going to lose my little brother to some ancient third of a satanic trinity, and I'm NOT going to let you add the destruction of the world to this sick death count you have going on. If I have to kill you to save you, if that's the _only_ option left, then I'm damn well gonna to do it. Got it?"

"Crystal."

Dean paused for a moment. He released Sam's arm slowly, noticing that the palms of his hands were faintly red from the physical contact, even through a shirt. He hid his hands, drawing them into fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Good." He said. "Let's get this shit over with."

Sam shrugged. "I'm assuming you know how to kill me?"

Dean gritted his teeth, aghast at the topic of discussion and how carelessly they were discussing it. "Yep." He quipped back, "This sword through your head…or chest, stomach, arms, all of the above—"

"Man, you've got this down."

"Oh yeah, I'm solid."

"You know what, I'm pretty convinced that you're actually going to carry through with it."

"Good. At least we're on the same page."

"I said _pretty _convinced, Dean. I still have some doubts."

"Well Sammy, you're gonna be _pretty _stunned when your severed head is lying meters away from your slouchless body."

"Dude, again with the slouching comments? I don't slouch that much."

"Ha. Hysterical, really. When do you not slouch?"

"_Anyway_, I want you on my side, Dean. You're not going to get a chance to kill me here."

"Oh really? What, are we going to relocate to Disney World or something? A happier place with little kiddies running around—oh wait. I forgot. You went and killed fifty percent of the world's children."

"Pulling statistics out of your ass now, huh bro?"

"Damn. I figured that was too low…sixty-seven percent?"

"God, you have the attention span of a _toddler_. Is there any way I can get you to stay focused on the present subject for more than five seconds?"

"Well, you could decide not to break the last seal. I'd settle for that…and a bag of candy. MnM's, to be precise."

"Uhh…yeah. Not gonna happen."

"Damn."

"…Yeah. So as I was saying, I'm not giving you your chance here."

"Because?"

"Because it would be far too easy for you to justify killing me if you could look into my black eyes _now _and see _what_ I am and how the end of the world is going to be determined by the slight of my hand in…" he paused dramatically, "Eh…a little less than an hour."

"Contrary to what you might believe, I have no intention of staring lovingly into your demonic eyes, Sam."

"Funny. Everything's just one big joke to you, isn't it?"

Dean paused. "No." he muttered softly, finally breaking the chain of banter that he had kept up in order to stall his brother for a few painful moments. "No, Sammy. This is far from funny."

Sam paused for a moment. Silence crept in on them from all sides. "I'm sending you back." He said finally.

"What?"

"That's my rule, Dean. My only rule. You have to kill me in the past, in the moment I choose. That's the only way I'll give you a shot at…" he paused and then grinned wryly. "Saving the world."

"Time travel?" Dean said flatly.

"My powers are practically limitless." Sam said with a shrug.

Dean laughed. "Yeah I get that." He said bitterly. "Let me guess. You want me to kill you back _before _you went all 'I'm the antichrist' and started killing innocent people and breaking seals to release Lucifer."

"Yes."

"And then I win and the world is saved."

"Yes."

"And if I can't do it?"

"Then you stop trying to kill me and join me instead." Sam said. "That's how it should be."

"What, I should be helping you end the world?"

"No…you should…oh, I don't know…" he trailed off.

"I should what?" Dean prompted.

Sam sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. "You should have my back. Like you always have."

"Well, you are the all-powerful antichrist now, I don't think you need big brother peering over your shoulder all the time."

"I know…I just…" he trailed off again, and then his face hardened. "It doesn't matter. Those are the terms."

"You don't think I'll be able to do it." Dean muttered. "That's why you're giving me this chance. You don't think I can kill you when you're just _Sammy_ with your innocent puppy dog eyes and anti-death attitude."

"No. I don't."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Why?"

Sam sighed. "Because of the reasons you _just listed, _Dean." He said tiredly. "Admit it. You had _many _chances to kill me before any of this end of the world shit happened, and you proved time and time again that killing me was the one thing you _couldn't do._"

"It was never this hopeless. There was always some hope that we could beat the destiny you just _loved _to throw in my face every time something went haywire."

"So I'm hopeless now?"

Dean shook his head. He was silent for a moment. "_Yes_." he choked out.

Sam's face froze in shock and then hardened. "Unbelievable."

"I'm so sorry." Dean whispered.

"For _what_?"

Dean swallowed hard before looking up to meet his eyes. "That it's come this far. That I couldn't kill you when you begged me to do it. When you were still _you._"

"For the last damn _time, _Dean—I'm still _me!_ And do you think it's really gonna be that _easy_?" Sam demanded angrily, "Just because you hate a part of me? That you'll really be able to walk up and run that sword through me and watch me sputter and choke as I drown in my own blood?"

"God no." Dean said hoarsely. "It'll be Hell all over again. And I don't hate a part of you, Sam—"

"_Fine_." Sam hissed. "You wanna do it? You want to waste me? Have fun."

"Sammy—" Dean muttered, reaching a hand toward his brother.

Sam recoiled, his eyes brimming over with fire.

"Dean!" a voice shouted from across the field. "Dean, you can't—"

Dean's head snapped to the side just in time to see Castiel go down under a pile of writhing demonic bodies. "No! Cas!"

"Aw, looks like your new best friend didn't stand much of a chance." Sam spat angrily. "Too bad, so _sad_."

"Sam, no—"

"Sit _down_, Dean!" Sam yelled, his voice distorting in fury as he flung his arm out, hurling Dean a few feet deep into the wet soil. Dean struggled under the pressure, but it was hopeless. "Sam, I don't want to—"

"Shut up! Just shut _up_! You've made your choice!"

Ruby glanced around frantically and then flung herself at Sam's arm, stopping him, "Wait, Sam, maybe you should just listen to Dean—"

Sam looked at her. She melted into a puddle at his feet. His eyes blazed.

"Sam…" Dean gasped, choking for air. "Sammy! I don't want to have to kill you. Please. Please don't make me have to—" his voice cut off as Sam pressed him down harder, cutting off his air supply.

"Goodbye, Dean. When you fail, don't hesitate to come crawling back."

The world _pinged_.

Dean coughed, breathing in the frigid air that fought to break through into his oxygen starved lungs. He gripped the sword hilt tightly as he tried frantically to collect his bearings.

Cold, wet snow soaked through his torn blue jeans. "Auhh…" he hissed as he tried to stand up. Piercing wind swirled the snow up all around him in a swirl of glitter in the light of the motel—

_Motel_??

His eyes widened further and he finally managed to stand up in the snow bank beside the curb. The door directly ahead of him was painted off-white, and the number 2 was nailed in the center of the door, though he could see the shadow of a 4 beside it where the number had fallen off.

_Oh God no…_

Dean stepped forward softly, hearing his boots crunch softly in the snow, until he reached the door. Hesitantly, he pressed his ear against it—

"—_maybe Dad—you're a girl—next one—"_

"—_Barbie? Where—get these, Dean—truth—"_

"—_nice ladies—street—didn't—chick gifts—swear—"_

Dean's head snapped back, his head spinning. He could dimly see the outline of a Christmas tree through the frosted windowpane.

"No." Dean whispered softly, realizing where he was, _when he was_, and what Sam wanted him to do, what Sam knew he _could never _do. "God no. No. Not _now_."

"_Did you hear that?" _a voice said inside. _"It sounded like Dad."_

"_Sammy wait—"_

The door opened.

Little eight year old Sammy stared up at him, clad in his pajamas, his hair tussled adorably from sleep. The moment he saw Dean the childlike excitement in his eyes dulled to a rising horror. "You're not Dad—"

**Dun dun duuuunn…Umm…yeah. I suppose that is a **_**really**_** terrible cliffhanger. Sorry! I just know it's been forever since I posted and I didn't want to have to make you all wait longer to get this chapter. I'll try my hardest to have the next chapter up soon! PLEASE REVIEW! Your feedback means so much to me. Thanks, and again I'm soo sorry. **


	14. I've Still Got Him

_The door opened. _

_Little eight year old Sammy stared up at him, clad in his pajamas, his hair tussled adorably from sleep. The moment he saw Dean the childlike excitement in his eyes dulled to a rising horror. "You're not Dad—"_

"Sammy—get down!" a frantic high voice shouted from inside the dim hotel room. Dean glanced past Sam and saw the barrel of a shotgun glinting ominously in his direction, held by a twelve year old version of himself.

Unable to think of any alternative, Dean did the only thing he could think of—he wrapped an arm around his little brother and yanked him up off the ground. "Don't!" he commanded.

As he anticipated, his younger self went rigid, eyes wide, furious and terrified all at once, and the barrel of his shotgun dropped so that it was no longer pointing at Sam. Sam started kicking frantically, but Dean held him close to his chest, preventing the child's escape with such minimal effort that it was heartbreaking.

"Let go of my brother!" young Dean demanded, his voice shaking from anger and fear. "Our Dad will be back any second—"

Dean let out a broken laugh at the incredulous statement, stopping the rest of the boy's threat. "No. No he won't." he choked out. He realized that his hands were shaking as he clutched his frantic baby brother against his chest. "He won't be back for days. You're _alone_."

"You don't know that!" the boy screeched, gripping the shotgun so tightly that his fingers were turning white. His eyes were locked on Sam's face, on his kidnapper's tightening grip around him. "He just went out to get—"

"He went out and _left you_, that's what he did!" Dean exploded, and the rage and terror he had kept locked away reared its ugly head at last. "On _Christmas_! What kind of fucked up father goes and leaves their children alone on _Christmas_??"

"He didn't!" young Dean shouted back. "He didn't leave us! He's coming back! He just went—"

"He just went _hunting_, that's where he went!" Dean yelled, "Hunting ghosts, hunting demons, hunting vampires—that's where he is! He's with _them_! They see him more than you do, more than Sam!

Sam let out a whimper. Young Dean's expression of agony intensified. "Sammy, it's gonna be okay, alright? It's gonna be fine, I'm here, okay? Sammy?"

"And you know what?" Dean demanded, ignoring him, "You know what's going to happen to you? How great your life of _hunting _is gonna be?" His arms unconsciously tightened around his baby brother so firmly that the little boy winced at the pressure.

"Stop!" young Dean yelled angrily. "You're hurting him! I swear to god when my Dad gets back he's gonna—"

Dean shook his head. "He's just going to leave you." He said bitterly.

"No." he said, "He wouldn't—"

"Stop being a gullible piece of shit!" Dean exploded, "He's gonna leave you and go on some frenzied cross country chase to kill the demon that murdered Mom. And guess what? Sam's going to leave you too, but at least he'll come back after his girlfriend burns to death on the ceiling of their apartment—"

"Stop it!" the boy shouted, and the shotgun shook in his small hands. "Shut up! What do you want from us?"

"Not done." Dean said, holding up a finger, his eyes glazed over as he relived the painful moments again and again in his mind. Sam finally stopped struggling and his terrified eyes sought out his brother. "_Dean…" _he whimpered, and a sob escaped his lips.

"Sammy…it's okay…" his older brother whispered, trying to comfort him. "I'm right here."

Dean ignored their exchange, and continued, "Oh, you'll eventually find Dad—and then he'll go to Hell. For—you. Congratulations, try getting up in the morning with that weight hanging over your head—"

"You're insane." young Dean said, shaking his head helplessly. "You—"

"If I'm insane, you're on the way there, kiddo." Dean said with a wide humorless grin. "Can you guess what happens next? No? Well, Sam's going to die. In your arms. His blood will be all over you…and you…you…you _can't_…" he paused and continued, "You'll sell your soul to bring him back to life, and then in a year you go to Hell for a few months, which for some sick, twisted reason ends up being forty _years_. And forty years in Hell—that's like being tortured forever over and over and over and it won't _stop_. And guess what all those years of fighting achieved?"

"Just put my brother down." Young Dean pleaded. "Please."

"Nothing." Dean said, answering his own question as though the boy hadn't spoken, "It got us _nothing. _Because we fought for revenge. And after all that, after _all those years_—Mom's still dead. She doesn't give a damn if we killed the demon that killed her! You know why? She's _dead! _She's in the ground! Getting revenge doesn't fix anything, it can't bring her back, and Dad certainly can't do it! This wasn't for her, none of it was for her, she wouldn't have wanted this—"

"Put my brother down!" the boy finally snapped, striding closer to Dean, "Someone's gonna hear you and come—"

"No one is staying at this shitty motel on Christmas Eve! Just _you._" Dean spat. "Listen—" And, as if to emphasize his point, he threw back his head and screamed as loudly as he could. The agonizing, grief-stricken wail seemed to intensify as it echoed across the empty lot. Dean lowered his gaze and, breathing hard, he shook his head. "Did anyone hear that? No. No. You're alone, you're helpless, and...and..." his voice broke and his realized that there were tears streaming down his cheeks, "_I've got Sam_, alright? I've got him. I've _always _had him, and I've…still…got him. I have to protect him and this life—god, this _life _has ripped me to shreds and him to shreds and there's nothing left but _I've still got him,_ alright?! Do you have a problem with that??"

Little Dean stared at him. His hands still firmly wrapped around the shotgun, but his mouth had fallen open slightly. Sam had stilled completely and was staring up at his captor, the color of his eyes an even brighter green against his pale, shivering face as he analyzed Dean's expression.

"Who are you?" young Dean hissed.

"I…" Dean trailed off and licked his lips. "Trust me, you don't want to know." He said bitterly.

"Who—"

A cold little hand reached up and tugged Dean's chin down a little bit. Dean looked down and realized that he was under the deep scrutiny of his little brother. "Your eyes…" Sam murmured softly.

Sam's childish voice cut through the muddled torrent of Dean's maddened thoughts like a knife, and Dean suddenly realized that he was holding the boy painfully tight. He loosened his hold slightly, but not enough for Sam to get away. "What?"

"I…know you…" the boy's voice trailed off as he suddenly caught sight of the amulet hanging from Dean's neck. He froze, eyes wide, and those wide eyes snapped back up to Dean's face.

Recognition.

_Oh God…_

"Hold it right there!" A deep, forceful voice yelled.

Dean looked up and saw a policeman standing a dozen yards away in the snow, his pistol already drawn and pointed at him. A man was standing half in the doorway of the hotel—the manager?

"Of course." Dean muttered cynically.

"Put the boy down and get your hands up." The officer ordered coldly. "No one has to get hurt."

Dean shook his head. "It's too late for that—"

BLAM

Red hot pain blossomed up Dean's right leg and he fell sideways, caught off guard. As he fell he twisted his body so that Sam was on top, and he hit the snow covered blacktop with a sickening jolt. His eyes swiveled to his younger counterpart, to the smoking shotgun in his hands, and he felt a small smile crawl up his cheek. "Nice." He muttered, keeping a firm grip on his shivering little brother.

The policeman stepped forward quickly, closing the distance between them. Ten feet, seven feet, five feet. "Stay down!" he shouted. "Don't you move!"

Crimson blood was already painting ruby vines across the snow, and he stared down at the pattern for a moment.

A small fist pounded into his chest, and he looked up at Sam's bewildered gaze. "Who are you?" he demanded. "That…that amulet…I was going to give that to…Dad…but he's not here…so I was about to…" he trailed off. "Who are you?"

"Release the boy. Now." The policeman demanded, gun trained on Dean at point blank range.

Dean drew the sword.

SNSNSN

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: **The chapter is NOT over!! The rest of this chapter will be told from young Dean's point of view. Therefore, when I say "Dean" said something, I mean the 12 year old kid. Older Dean is only referred to as "the man." Just wanted to minimize possible confusion. Oh, and older Dean does NOT get powers in this chapter. Any strange occurrences are all the work of the very ancient flaming sword, which wanted me to make it even more awesome than it already was. That's all. **

Dean stared in horror as the man holding Sam pulled a sword out of the scabbard at his side.

His mouth dropped open.

The sword was on fire.

_The sword…_

_…was…_

_…on fire…_

The policeman's jaw clenched in shock and he tightened his finger on the trigger.

"No!" Dean shouted. "What if you hit—"

The bullet shot out of the chamber and froze—hovered—in midair for a moment before dropping noiselessly into the snow.

The policeman's eyes widened and he moved back a step. "How?" he breathed. The motel manager had disappeared back into the front room, and they could all hear him frantically yelling at someone over the phone.

Sam's eyes remained glued on the sword, on the blade, on the flames, and whatever calm he had managed to cling to before fled in an instant. His wild, terrified eyes sought out his brother. "Dean!" he shrieked, and began kicking and struggling once more. "Dean!" he managed to free one arm and reached out toward his brother, his fingers stretching desperately—

Dean had seen enough. He blindly leapt forward toward the man on the ground. Toward the man with the _flaming sword_.

The man saw him coming but, instead of trying to gut him with the sword, he grunted and tried to twist out of the way. Using his shotgun as a melee weapon, Dean swung down with all his strength and managed to bring the weapon down on the man's already injured leg.

He cried out in agony and kicked out with his other leg, sending Dean sprawling into a snow drift.

"N-no!" Sam cried frantically, writhing as hard as he could in the stranger's grip. "No! Dean! Dean! _Please_!"

Dean leapt to his feet and hurled himself at the man again—

Only to get the wind abruptly knocked out of him. He gasped and fell to his knees, trying to breathe. Glancing up, he saw the man holding the sword in front of him, and the look in his eyes was completely bewildered. Dean raised a trembling hand in front of himself, and his hand came to rest flatly on an invisible wall in front of him. His eyes widened.

The policeman was frantically shouting into his radio, demanding backup. Finally managing to breathe, Dean met his brother's horrified gaze. "Sammy, it's okay!" he gasped, his raspy voice trying to convince himself just as much as he wanted to convince his brother, "Sammy! Sammy, listen to me. You're gonna be fine." his voice trailed off and he met the gaze of the attacker. "What do you _want_?!" he hissed.

"Nothing. I...I have to do it." The man answered, his voice cracking. Tears were starting to trickle down his face again, landing with wet plops on Sam's messy light brown hair. "I...have to. I don't have a choice." his green eyes focused on the sword in his hand, and then drifted down to Sam…

Dean started breathing faster, horror coursing through his veins. "No." he gasped, and pounded his fists as hard as he could against the invisible wall, slammed his whole body against the obstruction standing between himself and his little brother. "Sam!"

"Dean!" Sam yelled back, sobbing. "Dean! Dean, don't let him!"

"If you touch him I swear to _god—" _Dean shrieked, desperately trying to reach his little brother.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" the man gasped, breathing through sobs. "Sammy, my god Sammy I'm so sorry—"

**Umm…yeah. I know, it's a big cliffie. And several of you probably want to kill me...I don't blame you. But I will update it soon, I promise, sooner if I get lots of reviews. :)**** Thanks for reading! **


	15. Almost Done

**Thank you soo much for all the reviews! Your detailed feedback (and occasional threats of death if I didn't update that cliffhanger) really inspired me to write faster…and thus a new chapter has arrived much earlier than I had planned. :) Enjoy! **

_Dean started breathing faster, horror coursing through his veins. "No." he gasped, and pounded his fists as hard as he could against the invisible wall, slammed his whole body against the obstruction standing between himself and his little brother. "Sam!"_

"_Dean!" Sam yelled back, sobbing. "Dean! Dean, don't let him!"_

"_If you touch him I swear to __god—" __Dean shrieked, desperately trying to reach his little brother._

"_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" the man gasped, breathing through sobs. __"Sammy, my god Sammy I'm so sorry—"_

"Don't!" Sam sobbed, cringing away from the pulsing heat of the sword. Shining tears collected on his black eyelashes and dropped one after the other into the white snow. "D-don't! _P-please_!" he choked. He gasped in a breath of air and wrenched his head to the side, "_Deeeeannn_!"

Dean froze, his sword poised directly over his baby brother's chest. His shallow breaths quickened into hyperventilating gasps, and his hand shook violently as he clutched the sword, trying to bring himself to hurl it down.

"Deeeeann!" Sam shrieked again, sobbing the word through his clenched teeth as he thrashed about against his captor's hold. "_Deeeeannn_!"

"_Let him go_!" young Dean sobbed, clawing at the invisible barrier that prevented him from reaching his younger brother. "Not him! Take _me_, damn it! _M-me_! Take me! _Sammy_!"

"Dean!" Sam howled. "Dean! N-noooo!"

Dean threw his head back and screamed, tears pouring down his cheeks—

He swung the flaming sword down.

Silence.

Sam gasped in shock. He turned his head to the side, hair soaked to the scalp from the snow.

The sword quivered in the ground, flames flickering up the point where it was lodged deep in the pavement beside Sam's head.

Dean fell forward, weeping shamelessly, and buried his face in Sam's cotton pajama shirt. "I _can't._ I can't I can't I _can't _I can't I _c-can't_ S-sammy I _can't—_"

Breathing hard, Sam turned his pale face toward his older brother. Dean's green eyes were wide open, his cheeks streaked with tears as he stared back at Sam in overwhelmed disbelief. His hands were still pressed against the barrier, raw from pounding against the surface.

The policeman stood a few meters away, gawking at them. His pistol, long since forgotten, hung slack from his fingers. The piercing wails of numerous sirens were audible now, although the flashing lights weren't yet visible in the dark night. It was snowing again.

Another sob escaped Sam's lips and he pushed himself up, digging his fingers deep into the snow to drag himself out from underneath his attacker. Dean didn't resist him, and when the boy was gone he cradled his head in his hands.

Sam crawled over to his brother, but when he reached for him his hands smacked against the invisible wall, stopping him short. "_Dean_." He pleaded.

"Sammy—it's okay." young Dean gasped back, his voice cracking. "It's okay, I'm…I'm right h-here." He pressed his hand against the invisible barrier so that it mirrored Sam's.

The sword blazed brighter for a moment, and the obstruction dropped away. Sam leapt forward into his brother's arms and started sobbing afresh. The sound was muffled against Dean's chest.

Dean squeezed Sam against him, nestling his chin above his little brother's head. His whole body was shaking. "You're okay." He whispered breathlessly. "You're okay. You're okay."

Behind them, older Dean raised his head. His eyes fixed on the sword—without a word he grabbed the handle and yanked it rudely from the concrete. He drew back his arm and threw it away as hard as he could.

The ancient weapon skidded over the snow and clattered metallically against the wall of the motel.

Dean rolled over onto his back—

A man was standing over him, gazing down with compassionate, sorrowful eyes.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. He hurriedly pushed himself up into a sitting position, his heart pounding in his chest. "Who—" he rasped out, and then coughed. His throat was so dry. He paused, dread growing deep inside. It was so…quiet. But Sam—

_Sam—_

He whirled around.

Sam was gone. Dean was gone. The police officer was nowhere to be seen, and the sirens had gone silent.

Snowflakes fell silently from the black sky.

Dean glanced back at the man, but he had gone too—

No. He had only moved. He was leaning against the wall of the motel, next to the room Dean and Sam had shared so many Christmases ago. He tilted his head slightly, seeming to beckon Dean to the door.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to draw some moisture back into his parched throat. He struggled to climb to his feet but his right leg gave out underneath him. He hissed in pain and collapsed, leaving another smear of sparkling blood diamonds in the snow. "W-who…" he muttered, shivering from the cold, "Are y-you?"

The man smiled kindly at him but didn't reply. His smile was sad.

Dean opened his mouth to say something else—

"—_maybe Dad—you're a girl—next one—"_

He froze, and the words died before they passed his lips. _Impossible_…

"—_Barbie? Where—get these, Dean—truth—"_

Dean scrambled to his feet, gritting his teeth in pain as he tried to ignore the throbbing bullet wound. He lurched—hopped—his way over to the wooden door and pressed his ear against the cool surface—

"—_nice ladies—street—didn't—chick gifts—swear—"_

Dean remembered to start breathing again, and he let out the breath he had been holding in a whoosh of air. _It was like it had never happened… _Wordlessly, he turned to face the man leaning against the wall beside him. He realized that the man kept blurring, moving in and out of focus in such rapid succession that he couldn't get a lock on what he looked like. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"I think you know that answer." The man said quietly.

Dean clenched his teeth together, his mind racing. "No." he said testily, "If I knew I wouldn't have asked you."

"Yes you would." The man replied. "At least until you got an answer you liked."

Dean swallowed back the gall that was rising in his throat. "I've never seen you before." he muttered.

"You see me all the time." He answered. "Always."

Dean snorted. "Really?" He scoffed. "Then what the _hell_ am I doing here?"

"Saving your brother." He said simply. "Saving _Sam_." He fell silent.

Dean looked away angrily. Questions burned deep inside of him but he forced them all down because the answers didn't really matter. Not anymore. "I can't do it." He finally said, resignation heavy in his voice. "I can't."

"Then it's over." The man replied simply.

Silence.

Dean glanced back up at him, his eyes sharp. "What do you mean _over_?" he demanded angrily.

The man didn't say anything. He simply stared back at Dean, waiting.

"But…" Dean muttered, furious. "But I…but _you…_"

"Yes?"

"But you're _God_!" Dean finally exploded. He fell silent, his mouth hanging open, and—damn it all—more of those traitorous _tears _welling up in his eyes. "You're God—and you've _never _been there for me! _Never_! And I can't do it anymore, I can't fight anymore by myself, I…" his voice broke and he stopped, "I _can't_."

The man reached out and placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder. He paused for a long moment, and when he spoke again his voice was soothing. "You've never been alone. I never left…you just stopped looking."

Dean shook his head. He was shaking again, and he couldn't bring himself to say anything else.

"You're almost done." The man said softly. "You're so close."

"I can't kill Sam." Dean whimpered. "Not here. Not—not while he's…" he stopped and then shook his head helplessly, "You heard him. You had to hear. The way he screamed my name…his name, his Dean's name…like… like he could stop anything bad from happening …" he broke off. "I can't kill him like that. While he's sobbing and fighting me. I _can't_. I'd rather kill _myself_. I'd rather go back to Hell and _stay there_."

Silence. Then—

"Dean Winchester. Stop fighting me and let me help you."

Dean glanced up at him, and suddenly the choice was so simple. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

"You can finish this." He said. "I know you can."

Dean nodded again, breathing shakily. "Y-yeah."

"Then you can rest."

Dean nodded again, more forcefully, and his eyes slid shut. "Yeah."

"**Dean**??"

Dean's eyes snapped open and then squeezed shut again against the light. "Wha—?"

"Oh god, _Dean_, what—what the hell _happened_?"

_That voice…_

Dean's eyes snapped open again—

He was lying on the floor of a hotel room. Sam was kneeling over him, his brow furrowed with unveiled concern. "Dean?"

Dean sat up. _Too fast—_the room spun miserably, and he clutched his head to try to make everything stay _still_.

An arm slid up around his back, steadying him. "Woah. No, no. Dean, no. Stay there…just…just don't move." Sam stammered, and suddenly Dean felt something press against the bullet hole in his injured leg.

He hissed and tried to pull back.

"Come on man, hold still. I have to stop the bleeding."

"I'm fine." He rasped, and then winced at the raw tone of his voice.

"Shit, Dean—who did this? I didn't hear…" Sam said frantically. The pressure on his leg resumed with a vengeance. "I wasn't even gone _ten minutes_, I didn't hear _anything_—god, Dean, what—why…why didn't you _call me_??"

"Sam?" Dean muttered, trying to wrap his mind around his drastically changed circumstances.

"Okay." Sam continued, not seeming to hear him, "Okay. I think the bullet went all the way through, but you're still bleeding heavily—and why are you so cold? And…and _wet_?"

"Sam…" Dean muttered. "I'm fine. I need you to calm down."

Sam blinked. "No—"

"Yes." Dean shot back. "Just calm down, alright? _Breathe_, dude."

"But _Dean_—"

"Sam…did I go to Hell yet?" Dean blurted out.

Sam froze, and his face went rigid. "W-what?" he breathed.

"Did I go to Hell yet?" Dean repeated, intently analyzing at his brother's face. He exhaled heavily. "I didn't, did I?" he said quietly, reading the answer to his own question in Sam's expression.

Sam stared back at him. "N-no…"

**PLEASE REVIEW! Reviews feed the muse. :) **


	16. Amnesia

**Amnesia**

"_Sam…did I go to Hell yet?" Dean blurted out._

_Sam froze, and his face went rigid. "W-what?" he breathed._

"_Did I go to Hell yet?" Dean repeated, intently analyzing at his brother's face. He exhaled heavily. "I didn't, did I?" he said quietly, reading the answer to his own question in Sam's expression._

_Sam stared back at him. __"N-no…"_

"Oh." Dean said. He paused.

"Dean, I need to get you patched up—" Sam began tightly.

"But I'm _supposed_ to go to Hell, right?" Dean interjected. "I mean…soon?"

Sam flinched as though struck. "What the _hell_, Dean??!"

"I'll take that as a yes." He concluded, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Why are you—"

"What day is it?" Dean interrupted again.

Sam glared at him. "Do you think you might let me finish a sentence?"

"Just did." Dean shot back. "So what day is it?"

Sam was silent for a moment. "Tuesday." He said finally.

Dean nodded. "Tuesday…?"

"Yeah." Sam said, as though the one word explained everything, "Tuesday."

"Okay, Tuesday it is." Dean slurred. He blinked at the unexpected weakness, and his head spun angrily. He pressed his hand harder against his head, trying to quell the vertigo.

"Dean…hang in there, alright?" Sam said loudly, his voice strained.

"It's just a bullet wound." Dean muttered. "No proble—" he broke off as a wave of coughing overtook him.

Sam's fingers latched on to his jacket. "Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths. It'll pass."

Dean forced the coughs down and opened his eyes. His hand was covered with blood. He reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—more blood.

Sam had resumed his looming stance over Dean's leg, his mouth drawn into a tight straight line as he worked on stanching the blood flow.

"Sam…" Dean said slowly, "What's wrong with me?"

A laugh escaped Sam's lips.

Dean's eyebrow raised. "Uh…what was that for?"

"You got shot." Sam said.

"No, what was the laugh for?" Dean corrected him, "And I already know that I got shot."

Sam didn't look at him.

"Sammy?"

"You were poisoned, alright?" Sam blurted out, his eyes shooting daggers at Dean for a moment before he returned to the wound once more.

"Poisoned?" Dean muttered, dumbstruck. "When?"

"A few hours ago." Sam said tensely.

"Oh." Dean said. "Uh…how?"

Sam's hands stopped moving, his eyes flicked up to meet Dean's. "You don't remember? We already…already talked about it."

Dean's mind raced, reviewing his memories of the past few years in the blink of an eye. He had been shot, stabbed, kicked, tied up, ripped to shreds by hellhounds, buried, sent to Hell, tortured, but ironically _never_ poisoned—_oh wait…_ "Does this have something to do with a wishing well?" he asked hopefully.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Dean's face fell. "Nevermind." _Guess that one just falls under bad indigestion, anyway. __Back to square one._ "I…I don't…" he trailed off, face contorting.

Sam acted on impulse, throwing a plastic trash can into his shaking hands just in time for the putrid mess to splatter into the bucket. He kept a hand on Dean's shoulder as he retched.

Minutes passed. Then, when Dean was sure there was nothing left in his stomach except for vital organs, he weakly raised his head and muttered. "H-hamburger? Extra…onions…"

Sam painfully met his gaze. "Yeah. I should have caught it."

"Caught what?" Dean slurred.

"Nevermind." Sam said again. He paused. "What can I do?"

Dean shook his head. _I don't remember this happening…_ "Why…" he tried to quell back another wave of nausea and started again, "Not complaining, but…why aren't we…hospital?"

Sam shook his head. "It wouldn't do any good." He muttered.

"Oh…" Dean said, noticing for the first time how clammy his skin felt. Black spots began dancing in front of his eyes. Sam leaned over him. His lips were moving, talking frantically, but Dean couldn't hear anything at all. Everything faded to black.

_Heat of the moment—_

Dean's breath caught in his throat. He was sitting at the edge of a bed, one foot propped up, fingers automatically tying the laces of his boots. He froze.

Sam sat up in the other bed with a loud gasp.

Slowly—very slowly—Dean turned his head to face his brother.

Sam stared right back at him. "You didn't say it…" he muttered, eyes widening.

Dean leaned backwards and hurriedly turned off the music. His carelessness caused the silenced alarm clock to slide off the bedside table, but he ignored it. He stood up to face his brother, and in the process he realized that his leg was as good as new. He felt great. Sam, on the other hand, looked like shit. Very _confused_ shit.

"…Sam?" he said softly.

Sam leapt out of bed, knife in hand. "Who are you?" he demanded furiously. "Why are you doing this?"

Dean stared. "Woah there, Sammy, it's just me—"

"You can't be Dean, _you didn't say it_!" Sam shouted, eyes wild. He breathed out shakily.

"Say what?" Dean asked slowly, trying to keep him calm. "Sam, what was I supposed to say?"

Sam tilted his head, analyzing him. Then, very slowly, with the tones of someone who is going to snap at any given moment, he said: _"Rise and shine, Sammy."_

Dean's mind whirred into overdrive, trying to figure out what was going on, and then it clicked. "It's Tuesday." He breathed.

Sam didn't say anything.

Dean raised a hand to his head. "Oh god, I get it now, why the hell didn't I see…" he trailed off, and then walked around the bed so that he was closer to Sam.

Sam backed up a step, eyeing him wearily.

Dean didn't seem to notice. "You told me it was Tuesday. You _told_ me that it was Tuesday but I didn't make the damn connection. Of course you would say _Tuesday_ if it was _this _Tuesday. You wouldn't bother telling me a year or a month because it's _this Tuesday_."

"Christo." Sam said sharply.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Christo? Do I look possessed to you?"

Sam didn't say anything.

"Okay, fine. I'm probably not making much sense right now and you're freaked. I get that." He said, "You're stuck in a time loop, right?" Dean asked carefully. "A time loop that restarts every time I die."

"_Yeah_." Sam said, a spark of annoyance springing back into his voice. "And how _exactly_ do you suddenly know this information _now _and not during the past hundred loops?"

Dean gritted his teeth together. "Uh…"

"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded, his face flushed with anger. "Are you a shapeshifter? _What_?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "No, I'm not—I'm your _brother_, alright?"

Sam glared at him. His eyes raked up and down, analyzing everything about him. Dean just stood there, waiting. Sam bit his lip and then met his gaze. "Okay, I'm not…not saying that I believe you or anything." He said, "But let's _hypothetically_ pretend that you're telling the truth."

"That sounds good." Dean said. He paused. "And, because I'm _hypothetically _Dean _and_ telling the truth, you should put down the knife."

"No."

"Sam…" Dean said wearily, and let his hand drop back to his side. "Damn it." He looked away. His gaze fell on the wallpaper, which was a ridiculous swirl of floral vomit on lime green. He turned back to Sam. "This is getting us nowhere. I'm going to be straight with you, okay? I promise. Just…put down the knife first."

"Why?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Cause I don't want you to stab me." Dean said truthfully. "Do I need a better reason?" He glanced at Sam, but by the look of Sam's face he wasn't completely convinced. Dean took another stab at it, "And anyway, it's not like _I'm _armed—"

Sam sighed heavily and wordlessly pointed to Dean's side. Dean glanced down…and his stomach dropped. The sword was back in the scabbard at his side. "Oh. That…"

"Yeah."

Silence. Dean swallowed hard, trying to imagine what he should tell Sam first, what it would be easier to tell Sam first. Anything to ease him into it—

"I'm from the future." Dean blurted out. _Shit. Yeah, that's subtle. _

Sam's head tilted to the side, and his eyebrows rose skeptically. "Yeah right. And I'm your father, Luke."

"I'm serious, Sam." Dean said, stepping closer to his brother.

Sam tensed but didn't pull back. "O-kay…"

"You don't believe me."

"Nope."

Dean threw his hands up angrily and turned around. "Oh come _on_, Sam! We're stuck in a _time loop_!" he exclaimed, turning back to his brother, "_And_ we hunt monsters. Daily. _Nothing_ should be impossible right now—"

"Where did you get the sword?" Sam interrupted.

"I…uh…fought a Cherub for it."

Whatever answer Sam had been expecting, that wasn't it. His knife hand lowered slightly in disbelief, "See, it's _those_ kinds of answers that are making it difficult for me to—"

"Shut-up." Dean snapped. "A Cherub gave it to me after he beat the crap outa me in the Garden of Eden. Ever heard of it?"

"The Garden of Eden? You're kidding me, right?"

Dean put his hand on the hilt and drew the sword partway out of the scabbard revealing bright flames flickering up the polished metal.

Sam's mouth dropped open and he let out a gasp. The knife fell out of his slack fingers.

Dean pushed the sword back into the scabbard with a zing of metal on metal. "Does that _look_ like I'm kidding? They don't sell swords like that just _anywhere_." He looked back at his stunned brother, and his heart pinged. "_Sam_—"

Sam shook his head. "None of this makes any sense. Why would you have _that _sword, and what in god's name are you doing here?"

"So you believe me?"

"Well it's kinda hard not to once you pull out a flaming sword." Sam muttered, dropping back down on the bed. He looked up at Dean, his eyes flashing brightly. "Dean…why are you here? Now?"

"Well…uh…" Dean muttered, and trailed off. He sat down on the bed next to Sam. The springs creaked under his weight. "Things aren't going so well." He said vaguely.

"Define _not well_." Sam said.

"Oh…well…world's ending." Dean summed up. He swallowed hard.

Sam's eyes widened. "_What_? How?"

"Uh…" Dean floundered, looking everywhere but Sam. "Well…I…you…I mean…"

Sam sighed heavily. "It's me, isn't it." He whispered.

"No." Dean said defensively. "No. It's not…it's not _you_. Exactly."

"Exactly?"

Dean took a deep breath. "Damn it, Sam. I don't…" He muttered softly, miserably.

"Just say it."

Dean nodded, and finally met Sam's gaze. "You're..." he sighed. "You're the antichrist." He murmured.

Sam stared at him.

Dean buried his head in his hands for a moment, unable to stand his brother's agonized expression.

"Dean…" Sam whispered.

Dean's gut wrenched. He looked back up. "Yeah?" he asked softly.

"Really?" Sam asked. And god, he sounded so small, so scared.

Dean swallowed hard and sighed. "Yes." He paused, and then shook his head. "But—damn it, Sam, it's not really you! It's…it's…" he stopped, realizing he didn't know what to say.

Sam stood up. "I…I have to go." He said. He was trembling.

Dean stared. "What? Where?"

"I…I have to…" Sam muttered, and then he was gone, running out the door and thudding down the staircase.

"Damn it Sam I have to talk to you!" Dean screamed after him.

Sam was gone.

Dean gritted his teeth pounded his fist against the wall. There wasn't time for this, he needed Sam back, he needed to talk to him, needed to tell him so much—

But he was gone. Dean ran a tired hand over his face and went over his options to get his brother back. He could run after him, or take the Impala…he paused. An ugly thought ran through his mind, and he laughed bitterly. "Yeah." He muttered. "That'll work." He walked over to his duffel bag, rifled through it, pulled out his pistol, and—

_Heat of the moment—_

He was sitting on the bed, tying his boots. Very, very slowly, he turned his head to look at his little brother.

Sam stared back at him, his expression a torrent of helplessness, fear, and…disbelief. "You didn't." he said.

"Oh, I did." Dean said. He reached over and ripped the alarm clock out of the wall. Silence. He cleared his throat. "I can see how that would get annoying…"

"You killed yourself?" Sam demanded angrily. "_How could you do that_?"

"Mostly cause I knew it was gonna reset the loop, and that was far easier than chasing your ass." He said simply. His expression hardened again. "Sam, you can't run away from this. God, I wish you could, but you can't. We need to talk. Now."

"About _what_, Dean?" Sam demanded helplessly. "About _what_? About how I'm gonna end the world? About how _I'm_ actually the monster we should have been killing all these years? About how many people I'm going to kill—"

"No, Sam!" Dean shouted, standing up, "You're not a monster, you're not—I don't…"

"What, Dean?" Sam shot back, standing up too, "_What_? Stop protecting me and _just say it_!"

"Damn it, Sam! I don't know what to do!"

**PLEASE REVIEW!! Thanks. :) **


	17. Checkmate

**I am soo sorry that I have neglected this story for so long. Enjoy the chapter! **

_"Sam, you can't run away from this. God, I wish you could, but you can't. We need to talk. Now."_

_"About what, Dean?" Sam demanded helplessly. "About what? About how I'm gonna end the world? About how I'm actually the monster we should have been killing all these years? About how many people I'm going to kill—"_

_"No, Sam!" Dean shouted, standing up, "You're not a monster, you're not—I don't…"_

_"What, Dean?" Sam shot back, standing up too, "What? Stop protecting me and just say it!"_

_"Damn it, Sam! I don't know what to do!"_

Sam breathed in sharply and sat back down. He leaned forward and squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his palm over his forehead as he exhaled slowly. He mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Dean said, finding himself unable to look at Sam. His brother didn't answer. He sighed and sank down on the bed beside him, glaring at the wall as though it was the cause of everything.

Sam remained silent. When Dean finally looked at him he was startled to see that he was shaking. "Sam? Oh shit, you…Sam, Sammy, listen, I…hey, I'm gonna figure something out, okay? I'm…I'm…" he trailed off and paused. "Are you…wait. You're…."

Sam let out a deafening snort and his laughter finally broke into the stale air, filling the room as Dean stared in baffled wonder. "What the _hell_, Sam…"

Sam sat up straight, tears making trails down his cheeks. He glanced at Dean and opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by another eruption of laughter.

"Um…" Dean muttered unhelpfully. He reached out to touch his brother's shoulder but pulled his hand back, unsure of how to handle this.

Sam shook his head fervently and bit his lip hard, trying to stifle the outburst. "I—" he snorted and a small chuckle burst through his closed lips as he tried to swallow, "I'm…the…..antichrist? R-really? W-what are the c-chances—"

Dean glowered. "I don't see what's funny so about it."

"And you…" he broke down into laughter again, unable to finish.

Dean groaned. "Come on, Sam, I could really use a laugh. Clue me in on the humor here, at least make it through a sentence."

"You…" Sam laughed, "You…"

"I WHAT?" Dean shouted, exasperated.

"You still d-don't know what to d-do." Sam choked out in a rush. He breathed in deeply again, clutching his sides, unable to stop the laughter or the tears.

Dean cleared his throat, watching. "Uh." He said finally, still at a loss.

Sam's laughter continued, his mouth stretched into such a huge grin that Dean was reminded of the days when a much younger Sam would suck the lid of his thermos to his mouth at lunch so tightly that Dean would scare him by saying his face was going to be stuck like that. He opened his mouth to say as much, but snapped it shut. Sam was smiling. All Dean had been able to get out of his brother for the last several months was a parade of grimaces and sarcastic lifts at the corners of his lips when he had been taunting him. This was a goldmine. And screw the fact that Sam's laughter had a manic twinge; it was the sweetest sound he had heard in a long time.

As the laughter continued, Dean realized that Sam's fingers were twisted around the fabric of his button-up shirt. He could feel his brother squeezing the material tightly. Sam's head was down now, his hair in his eyes and face tilted so that he couldn't quite see his expression.

Dean waited silently, his eyes never leaving his little brother's face as Sam's laughter continued. Eventually Sam's fit began dissipating and he let out something that sounded halfway to a sob. "Dude…" Sam said finally, "We both know the way out of this…"

"What?" Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Ah, come on." Sam's fist hadn't released Dean's shirt yet, and he used his other hand to wipe at his eyes. When he turned to face Dean his face was wet but his lips were smiling. "I think we're finally at the point where we have to face this, don't you?"

Sam hadn't released his grip on Dean's shirt yet, and Dean swallowed hard, looking down at his hand. "Yeah." He breathed. "But I already failed, so it doesn't matter. None of this matters."

Sam made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, cutting Dean off. Somehow even his eyes were smiling, even though another tear threatened to spill over. "Dean…you're my big brother. You're incapable of failing."

Dean shrugged helplessly. "The only chance I got was to kill you as a little kid. You—_he—_knew I wouldn't be able to do it! I failed. It's over."

Sam shook his head. "No. It's not." he said softly. "You have to kill me in the past. The past is the past, it doesn't matter how old I am. Do it now."

Dean flinched. "Sam…I _can't_. That's the one thing I can't do."

"So I'll do it."

"What?"

"Yeah." Sam said, trying to smile again. "You've taken care of me all my life. I got this one, Dean." He leaned forward and pulled Dean into a tight hug, breathing in the smell of leather and trying to ignore the stench of smoke and blood that clung to him.

Dean's stomach churned anxiously as he returned the hug. He tried to say _no _but the word wouldn't come to his lips. They couldn't run from this anymore. He felt Sam pull the sword from the scabbard at his side and saw the reflection of the flames in the tarnished lamp on the bedside table.

Sam retracted from the hug. He sat on the bed for a moment, separated from his brother, watching him. The flames of the sword licked up his hand and danced over the blanket on the bed. Dean stared right back, pale and trembling.

"Okay." Sam said, swallowing hard. "O-okay…"

"Okay." Dean whispered.

Sam nodded. He tried to swallow but his mouth was like sandpaper and wood-shavings. He gripped the handle tightly so that the point of the sword was facing his chest, but his hands were shaking so badly that it was hard to keep a grip on the metal…

He shut his eyes, getting ready—

BANG

Sam's eyes shot open, startled. Dean's gun was raised, barrel smoking. Sam gawked at him for a second as he felt deep warmth spread across his throbbing chest. The sword fell from his hands and bounced once before coming to rest between them on the bed, casting flames in their eyes.

"It's okay, Sammy."

Sam smiled. His smile told Dean everything he needed to know.

Dean fired again.

Sam's body collapsed backward onto the bed as though its strings had been cut. Lifeless eyes stared upwards beneath a small hole in the middle of his forehead, half hidden by his messy mop of hair.

A smile still hung on his lips.

Dean's arm fell down at his side, his finger still poised on the trigger of the gun. He sat there for a moment, numb. With a steady hand he reached out and lightly brushed his fingers over Sam's hair before letting his hand come to rest in the center of his chest, where the first bullet was lodged, where he used to keep his hand to comfort Sam when the kid used to have nightmares. He kept his hand there, feeling the absence of heartbeat through the sticky warmth of blood that spilled out. "I promised." He said, barely audible. "I've got you."

The world spun and blurred, mixing the colors of the hotel room with the blood, with the flames of the sword—

He was back. Dean fell face forward onto the ground, tasting grass and dirt. He didn't move for a long time. People were rushing around him and over him. Someone kicked him in the ribcage, another in the stomach. He gasped in, breathing dirt.

Someone was screaming—no—everyone was screaming. His ears throbbed with the sound of it, but still he did not get up.

Hands grabbed him and wrenched him up off the ground and into the air. Dean stared around him, blinking. Color was dripping from the sky onto the earth, and the earth was dripping up into the sky. Demons rippled and writhed, throwing their heads back in wordless agony as they too melted away.

Dean realized that someone was yelling at him, shaking him violently, and he glanced at the man that held him suspended in the air, hurling curses down upon him that couldn't be heard over the screaming.

Sam.

Dean felt a smile creep across his face as he gazed upon the dissipating figure in front of him. _"you were wrong" _Dean cried to him soundlessly in the void. _"i saved you saved you i saved you i"_

Sam snarled, eyes flashing red and black as he tightened his grip on Dean, drawing blood—and hurled him away. Dean felt his body arch above the sea of dissolving demons. Already the screams were inaudible, and silence pounded in his ears. He stared up at the sky which was distorted and blurred beyond recognition and braced himself for impact with the ground—

He slipped down through the dripping matter, dissolving, numb, a figment of imagination, and then…

SNSNSN

**Well, that leaves all but the epilogue. But wait, how could there possibly be an epilogue, you ask? Well there is, I've had it planned since the beginning, and it's happy and wraps everything up (the writers block just happened on the way there to slow things down). Review, thanks! :)**


	18. Promise

**Here is the conclusion I promised so long ago. Enjoy, and thank you all again for reading and reviewing. **

_Dean felt a smile creep across his face as he gazed upon the dissipating figure in front of him. __"you were wrong" __Dean cried to him soundlessly in the void. __"i saved you saved you i saved you i"_

_Sam snarled, eyes flashing red and black as he tightened his grip on Dean, drawing blood—and hurled him away. Dean felt his body arch above the sea of dissolving demons. Already the screams were inaudible, and silence pounded in his ears. He stared up at the sky which was distorted and blurred beyond recognition and braced himself for impact with the ground—_

_He slipped down through the dripping matter, dissolving, numb, a figment of imagination, and then…_

The fires of Hell raged once more, stretching with gnarled fingers from the craters of the Earth to strangle the souls left behind and pull them below. It reached until the ground was raked raw with oceans of blood, boiling. Screaming in the throes of death because it was too late, shrieking in piercing pitch because it had finally reached an unconquerable bent.

Time stopped.

Silence descended from the Heavens and hovered above the world. Darkness and death lay still below, unburdened by happiness or sorrow or pain. Millions of eyes stared blankly upwards, pleading through all stages of decay.

It started to snow. Individual snowflakes drifted down the scorched air, silently covering the dead like a blanket. The snow fell lightly at first and then poured down, as though the storm clouds had been ripped right down the middle. Grace fell.

If anything had been alive to listen, they would have heard the soft _clip clop clip_ of a white stallion's hooves in the snow. It walked slowly until it reached the middle of the field. The man on its back rested a hand on its mane, running his fingers through its silky hair until it stopped, snorting, and pounded a hoof into the snow with finality. He whispered something into its ear, and the sound of his voice drifted softly on the absence of wind.

The man slid off the stallion and into the knee-deep snow. He breathed in the cool air and knelt down, reaching. When he withdrew his hand, his fingers were clutched around a tiny golden amulet on a broken black cord.

He stood back up and stared down at the shattered, twisted body of a man beneath the snow. Hazel eyes stared up emptily, frozen wide.

The man smiled down. _"I don't know about you, Dean." _He said softly,_ "But I think it's far too early for this story to end."_

His horse snorted again, its breath visible in the air.

He opened his fist and let the blood stained amulet fall. It arched down and struck Dean's chest, bouncing once before coming to rest over his silent heart.

Light erupted from the sky, reflecting off the snow as though it was made of diamonds instead of water. The world gleamed, brightened—

And the light faded.

Darkness fell again, but this time the darkness was saturated with laughter, music blaring from car speakers, clicks of silverware on ceramic plates, and the soft squeaks of rusty swings at a playground.

The darkness curled lovingly around a small home nestled in the nook of a suburban street. Pinpricks of stars shone down from where they nestled around the full moon. After a moment, a streetlight blinked on outside. Cars drove past with music turned up loud enough to hear the base. A grey stray cat streaked across the yard after an unfortunate mouse.

Dean bolted up in bed with a scream. His mind spun wildly as his hands grasped at the darkness for something certain and solid—something that could save him. His fingers caught the warm fabric of his sheets and twisted inside the folds. He stopped.

Footsteps echoed on the wood outside the door and then the light was on, shining down on him and illuminating a familiar face.

"Dean? Oh, sweetheart." she crooned, sitting down on his bed and running a hand through his sweaty hair. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Dean gasped for air as he stared at his mother. She couldn't be real. This couldn't be real. He was still in the field. He was still dying, and Sam was dead. Sammy—

He looked away, down at his hand that was clenched in the sheet. He froze.

His hand was small, smooth, unscarred. A child's hand.

"Is he alright?" A voice asked from the doorway.

Dean looked up, certain of what he would see but terrified at the same time. "…Dad." He choked out.

"Hey there kiddo." John said, smiling warmly at him.

"I think he had a bad dream." Mary said, rubbing circles on Dean's back as he tried to remember how to breathe.

"I would say that's a bit of an understatement." John said, stepping into the room and sitting on the bed beside her. "Kid looks like he's seen a ghost."

Dean let out a sound that was meant to be halfway between a sob and a laugh. It came out of his child vocal cords as a squeak. Mary placed a hand on his head, rubbing his forehead softly with her thumb. "It's alright, Dean. It was just a nightmare. You're safe now, alright?"

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

"Ssshhhh." His mother whispered, smiling at him. "I've got you, Dean. I've got you."

Dean's heart pounded. "Sam." He gasped, "Sammy?"

John's brow furrowed. "Sam's fast asleep, son. Mommy and I just put him to bed—"

Dean's throat finally opened enough to allow him to let out a sob. He pushed his mother's hands away and jumped out of bed. He managed to control his small, uncoordinated legs enough to duck under his father's arm and run past his parents, out of his bedroom and into the room that had been for one brief moment—

Sam's.

He stopped. The cradle stood in the middle of the room, illuminated by the glow of the nightlight on the stand. He darted forward, grasped the wooden bars, and stood on his tiptoes so that he could see.

His baby brother was lying on his back, head turned toward the wall.

"Sammy?" He breathed.

Sam's face turned toward him. His green eyes met Dean's and latched on, matching the intensity of his gaze. And with that look Dean knew that _his Sam _was in there, just as confused and overwhelmed as he was.

Dean leaned closer and thrust a hand through the bars, stretching as far as his little arm could reach. His brother's little fingers curled around his pinky and latched on. Dean swallowed hard. "How?" he whispered. "How are we…"

"See, kiddo? Sammy's fine." John said, stepping up behind him and tousling his hair.

Dean didn't move, and his eyes didn't stray from Sam's face. Sam's grip tightened on his finger.

Mary knelt down beside him and brushed her hand down his cheek. Her hand came away wet with tears that Dean hadn't noticed were there. "Want to say goodnight to your brother, Dean?"

Dean nodded desperately. Mary's arms encircled his waist, pulling him upwards. He opened his mouth to protest as Sam's hand slipped from his, but before he could say anything he found himself being set down inside the crib. Mary kissed him on the forehead and stepped back. She whispered something to John, but Dean wasn't listening anymore.

He pulled his brother's tiny body to his chest and held him close, nestling his fuzz covered head underneath his chin. Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like his name and clenched his tiny fingers in the folds of Dean's pajama top. "I've got you." Dean breathed. "I've got you, Sammy. Nothing is ever going to hurt you again. Okay? I fixed it. I promised I would, and…and you're gonna be just you this time. Just my little brother, and nothing else. And there's no damn destiny to mess us up or take you away." He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on his brother. "Not _ever_."

The world flashed white one final time, wiping the slate clean.

John hesitated mid-sentence. "Did you feel that?"

His wife shook her head, leaning against the doorframe. "Feel what?"

He chuckled and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "I thought I just…never mind. Must be getting tired."

"Mommy?" a voice called, "I'm ready for sleep now."

Mary smiled and walked back into the nursery. "Are you, baby?"

"Yeah." Dean said. "So's Sammy. Sammy's really tired."

"Alright." Mary said, running her fingers through his hair. "John, why don't you put Dean to bed and read him a story?"

"Of course." He said, "I was just about to…" he trailed off and paused. "Wait…"

"What?" Mary asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Shhhh…." He put his hand over her mouth. "Mary, don't talk. I think…something's coming…"

Dean stared up at him, eyes wide. "What Daddy?"

"It's…the _tickle monster!_" John lunged forward, fingers extended. Dean shrieked and pulled back, laughing before his father's fingers even touched him. "No! Daddy!"

Mary laughed, scooping Sam up from the cradle to get him out of harm's way. She held him close, rocking him gently. "Oh for goodness sake, John, they were finally tired!"

"Nah, he wasn't tired. He'll be exhausted after _the tickle monster _is through with him!" He grabbed the squealing boy around the middle and pulled him from the crib.

"Mommy!" Dean yelled, smiling widely as he reached for her.

"Bed, John." She said, laughing as she continued rocking her youngest to keep him from waking up. "Now."

"To bed we fly!" John said, dropping his voice but keeping the tone playful as he slung the boy over his shoulder. Dean shrieked in delight.

Mary groaned in exasperation as John ran out of the room with Dean clinging to his back. Sam had stirred awake, but he wasn't crying and his eyes were already drooping shut. She laid him down gently in the crib and ran her finger lovingly across the tip of his nose. "Goodnight Sammy." She said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She touched the mobile above the crib, causing it to spin gently. The little crystal figurines glinted in the moonlight that slanted through the window. "Angels are watching over you."

**The End**


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